


Hidden Inhumanity

by ShadowedAuthor



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Naruto
Genre: Crossover, Every world is against him, Gaara in Hogwarts, Gen, Sirius' bad influence, Tanuki!Gaara, The world is against Gaara, Trapped in another world, Triwizard Tournament, full moon shenanigans, trying to get home
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-04-04 20:58:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 134,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14028612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowedAuthor/pseuds/ShadowedAuthor
Summary: Sequel to Silent Humanity – Into his second year in a strange world, Gaara struggles more than ever to maintain his sanity and wellbeing. The dangers are mounting all around, both to and from the displaced Jinchūriki.





	1. Same Old Headache

 

Here is the sequel to Silent Humanity. 

 

 

 

The above coverart was generously donated by Spiral of Destiny, who has been a great supporter of my humble efforts. 

 

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

 

Harry awoke with a start, the chill of a cold sweat still running over him. Unlike some of his dormmates, Harry did not often remember his dreams but as the shock settled, he wondered if his night vision had even been a dream. He hoped so.

 

Even as he recalled it upon waking, it was fading at the edges, shying away from his probing consciousness. In the dream, he had been crawling along the ground, slithering even, and had sneaked up behind an elderly muggle in an old run down house. The gentleman had been spying into the only lit room. As he was startled by whoever Harry was supposed to be, he fell back into the room and Harry had seen them.

 

There had been four people in black cloaks, their faces were obscured, or maybe they had not been and he just could not remember them. And Harry had seen _him._ Voldemort.

 

He could not summon the image now that he tried but he was sure it had been his parents’ murderer. He had not looked right. Harry was not sure what Voldemort was supposed to look like when he was not stretched over the back of someone’s head or when he was sixteen, but Harry was sure he was not supposed to be whatever he had been in the dream, and yet he was sure. It was _him_.

 

Like his title, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was entirely obscured from his memory now, so Harry could not adequately explain later why the word homunculus came to mind without resorting to speculation.

 

Harry did not know what had shaken him more: the sight of Voldemort, surely terrifying (if only he could remember why), watching the poor hapless witness being killed with an inexplicably familiar green spell, or hearing what had been said between the cloaked figures before the man’s discovery and death.

 

Like Voldemort’s face and most of the particular details of the scene, the men’s voices had faded with his increasing alertness. They had conferred with whatever was left of Voldemort and Harry had heard them mention placing a new spy in the Ministry of Magic, in light of Lucius’ failures; and more troubling was that they openly conspired to kidnap Harry. Apparently one of them was spearheading the operation.

 

Even if it had been a dream, and he dearly wished it was, Harry decided he would be wary of any potential abductors (*cough* Slytherins *cough*) for the foreseeable future.

 

No more slumber parties at Malfoy’s house, he thought wryly.

 

Speaking of dark households, Harry sat up and scrambled for his glasses. He would write to Sirius and tell him all about it immediately. He was sure his dogfather would tell him that it was all a dream and nothing to worry about. He was looking forward to hearing those assurances in person when Sirius came to collect him for the World Cup.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

Gaara awoke with a start, his brows knitted together in the beginnings of a headache. Being what he was, Gaara was cursed to listen to his headache spread with the sound of raucous laughter inside his mind.

 

Gaara had been in this world for almost a year now (not a landmark he had been looking forward to), and he had resolved himself to checking up on Shukaku more often. With his animagus training and the full circuit of the Earth around the Sun, he was concerned that his seal might shift again. Really, he hadn’t the first clue what had caused the initial change and it concerned him greatly.

 

Of course, upon visiting his inner demon this first time after he made this (retrospectively) impulsive decision, it was clear he had underestimated the cost of such vigilance.

 

A couple of days before, Gaara had confirmed that his efforts this summer had not been wasted and that he was indeed capable of becoming an animagus. He told Shukaku this in the hope that the beast would reciprocate and offer some nugget of wisdom pertaining to his monthly transformation cycle. The tanuki was always quick to mock and jeer but so far he had not divulged any useful wisdom despite Gaara’s suspicion that the one-tail knew something or other about the matter.

 

It had been silly, expecting the monster to follow the conventions of good will and offer any type of aid to his host. To say Shukaku had been _unhelpful_ would be to woefully understate the exchange.

 

As he was wont to be, the sand demon had spent the full half-hour conversation slinging insults and jokes at Gaara and then trying to suggest creative ways Gaara could kill the population of London. Shukaku had been salivating at the prospect of so very many humans to kill.

 

Talks with his tenant were best summarised, in Gaara’s weathered experienced opinion, since the full exchanges were tedious. Picking out any words of use was a difficult task that Gaara was all too accustomed to, but in between the course words there had been a couple nuggets of insight. 

 

“Imagine that, whole buildings coming down on top of them!” Shukaku had hollered. “I couldn’t take a step out there without crushing a hundred of them. I’ll tell you all about being a fluffy little baby tanuki if you let me loose for the night.”

 

“No.”

 

“You’re no fun. Ever since you went through the Kurai Sekai, you’ve been no fun! Those wraith things don’t bleed and you haven’t spilled any blood in ages.”

 

“What’s the Kurai Sekai?” Gaara asked.

 

Of course, then Shukaku had lorded this knowledge over him and given nothing more on the subject. He clearly knew at least a little about whatever had left him in this world.

 

As he sat in his over-plush bed, he regretted the fact that he was going to have to make good on his intention to regularly stop in to see his tenant. Clearly Shukaku knew more than he was saying about their exile to this world, and probably regarding the transformations too.

 

His demons to bear, Gaara supposed.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

As Gaara descended for a glass of water to take with the magical leaf he had snatched from the worryingly well-stocked medicine cabinet of a former DADA professor he knew, he was startled to find the normally quiet early morning house in a flurry of activity. This leaf, that apparently alleviated headaches and had an appropriately silly magical name, would hopefully help him prepare for his long day ahead.

 

Sirius had told him they would be leaving at the crack of dawn so Gaara had taken that to mean, like all the other times his guardian had hyperbolically claimed they would do something ‘at the crack of dawn’ or ‘first thing in the morning’, that they would in fact be leaving closer to lunchtime. Gaara, night owl that he was, had never seen Sirius before 5 a.m., so he was more than a little surprised and displeased to find both Sirius and Remus already bustling around downstairs half an hour before the sun was to rise.

 

They were packing their tents and other supplies into magically expanded duffle bags, having failed to do it the night before. Gaara noticed one of the bags just seemed to be loaded with food and drink, of which the majority was drink. Gaara would have to look around for some earplugs, he suspected.

 

“Oh, good, Gaara. I was just about to come and get you. Figured you’d probably be awake by now anyway.” Sirius said, all good cheer. Clearly he had been mainlining coffee.

 

“Could you go and get anything you want to bring with you, Gaara? Your pillow, maybe a book-”

 

“No books!” Sirius interrupted Remus, “You can bloody well read any time. Today you’ll hang out with the rest of us and have some fun!”

 

Gaara gulped a little, “But-”

 

“Fun!” Sirius concluded and took another swig of Kreacher’s extra strong black coffee.

 

Gaara turned around and went to get his pillow, a spare set of clothes and a single book. He also collected his smaller hip gourd. It was inconvenient to carry around his standard sand gourd, especially in muggle areas, so he had taken to carrying a greatly reduced volume of sand that would still function as an initial defence.

 

He smuggled the book under his pillow to Remus, who packed them safely away with a conspiratorial look. When Sirius finally came down from his caffeine high, he would be less intense and Gaara would be able to read in peace, hopefully.

 

Of course, that would only last until Sirius got drunk enough to start bothering Gaara again, but there was nothing anybody could do about that.

 

Kreacher had prepared a small breakfast but Gaara was not hungry so Sirius ate it as well as his own.

 

Remus was left to haul most of the bags to the portkey while Sirius went to collect Harry. It had been decided, mutually, that Gaara could not be trusted to come along without prompting from one of them, so, since his arms and wand were free, Sirius would be watching Gaara while he went to pick up Harry. That way there was less chance of the red-haired shut-in running back to his room and barricading himself in, or running off.

 

Remus had reluctantly agreed with the plan of action, seeing as it was essentially a form of imprisonment, but he also knew Gaara was still a child and sometimes a firm hand had to be taken.

 

Gaara was not happy about anything that was happening, particularly the prospect of apparition (and something called a portkey that he just _knew_ was going to be unpleasant since it was designed by wizards).

 

“Don’t be grumpy, Bandit. We only have to apparate twice.” Sirius said.

 

Gaara continued to be grumpy.

 

They each carried some weight since Remus would never manage to lug all the multiple duffel bags and tent supplies by himself.

 

“See you there, Moony.” Sirius cheered, walking out the front door. It was at least a pleasantly sunny day

 

Gaara did not bother with any parting words, and walked out silently, shutting the door in the middle of whatever Remus had been saying.

 

They apparition was as unpleasant as Gaara remembered and he was not looking forward to another jump like that. Sirius was less than sympathetic, his smile threatening to touch his earlobes as they walked down Privet Drive.

 

Gaara thought they were curious houses: all practically identical except for the different coloured ‘cars’ parked by a few of them. It was eerie, even after having lived in a haunted castle and a rundown townhouse.

 

The only way to distinguish them, Gaara realised, was by the small numbers set by each of the doors. Sirius had been here before and confidently walked along the road until they reached the house designated number 4. It was entirely as unremarkable as any of the other houses, in Gaara’s eyes.

 

There was a small device that Gaara understood was an electronic doorbell, which Sirius entirely ignored as he pounded on the door. The painted black door was gently opened in moments.

 

“Good afternoon, how can I-” Whatever Petunia had been about to say to the rude visitor cut off when she realised it was her freakish nephew’s freakish godfather here to pick him up again as promised. She did not bother to greet the freakish man and the even more freakish red-haired boy stood behind him. To think that _ex-convict_ would have the cheek to bring yet another freak to her home!

 

Sirius took this snub as he always did and reciprocated in kind.

 

Petunia, who had the sad appearance of a woman who long ago tried to overcome her naturally plain looks through hard work and perseverance and had now convinced herself that instead of God-given, whatever beauty she had mustered was the deserved result of her determination.

 

She looked even less pleased to see Sirius this morning, which he did not wonder about. Vernon had been particularly aggrieved to discover that Mr Black was taking the boy to an international sports festival (albeit a one for freaks) since he had not been able to afford to take Dudley to the FIFA World Cup in the States last year. Dudley had also been unhappy to hear it, but had instead focussed his frustrations on screaming at his mother and father to take him to another event.

 

Harry had enjoyed the whole drama for once since the Dursleys were too afraid of Sirius to vent their upset on him.

 

He had hardly been able to sleep the night before, so excited to be going the next day. Harry practically skipped down the stairs with his rucksack on his shoulder. Aunt Petunia had moved out of the way so that he was free to hug Sirius (despite having seen him not too long ago).

 

Once released, Sirius asked “Ready to go?”

 

“Just need to put my shoes on.” He sat at the bottom of the stairs and hurriedly laced his trainers on. He had not spared Gaara a second glance, determined not to let the redhead’s presence ruin his day. Gaara was happy to do the same, as usual.

 

Petunia slammed the door the second he was clear of it. Gaara spared the house Harry lived in a second look as they departed, and then at all of the identical buildings down the way.

 

When they reached their usual secluded spot to apparate out of sight, Harry automatically clutched Sirius’ shoulder whereas Gaara took a moment to make his peace with both the bodily contact and the impending apparition. Once he had, following a loud throat-clear from Sirius, they popped out of existence in Surrey and reappeared in a wooded area in a central London park.

 

Harry appreciated the fact that Gaara, as unflappable as he tended to be, still stumbled as embarrassingly as Harry had when they landed.

 

“I thought you were going to miss it.” Remus sighed in relief, laden like a pack mule and forced to waddle over to the trio.

 

“Well, these two couldn’t help themselves. They hugged, there were tears. It was a beautiful reunion.” Sirius smirked, taking pity on the werewolf and taking one of the large bags from his overburdened shoulders.

 

Meanwhile Harry and Gaara had shared a rare look after hearing Sirius’ poor joke. They too took a couple of bags from Remus, who looked immensely grateful for the relief.

 

As there were only so many portkeys in London, most hidden in parks or abandoned buildings, Sirius, Remus, Gaara and Harry were not alone in the glade. Around them were almost twenty witches and wizards, all stood around an old tire waiting for the allotted time.

 

“What are we all waiting for?” Harry asked, still unsure how they would be getting to wherever the match was being held.

 

“Any minute now…” Remus said, looking at his watch. A number of the other Quidditch goers were doing the same. When they started to approach the old tire, Remus and Sirius did the same.

 

“Make sure you get a good hold of the portkey. You don’t want to get thrown off and end up in Wales.”

 

When the two teens saw everyone else touching their fingers to the tire, they got the idea and did the same. Remus was still staring at his watch until he looked up, smiled at Harry and Gaara and their stomachs sunk in sudden realisation.

 

The turbulence and g-force of the sudden transit was like nothing either teenager had ever experienced. It was a strange feeling, in all senses, and by the time Gaara and Harry fell to the ground they were both resolute that they would not be returning to London via another portkey. Worst of all, Sirius seemed to find it terribly amusing, his teenage wards’ floundering landing.

 

At least Remus had stifled his laughter.

 

The other witches and wizards were trying to avoid looking directly at the prone boys, which Harry certainly appreciated. They collected themselves and their bags and all four started into the camp grounds which were already filled with tents and revellers.

 

“I got us a couple pitches over there,” Sirius said, pointing away from the stadium and the nicer, fancier-looking tents and towards the more ramshackle area. “The best parties happen in the cheap spots.” He finished by way of an explanation.

 

“They’ve cracked down on the riots that used to spring up,” Remus warned, remembering how Sirius and James used to jump right into the fights when they had all gone to the finals years ago.

 

“Well, I’m sure we…”

 

“You can’t go starting anything either. You’ve only just gotten out of prison, do you really want to find out if they’ve already given away your cell?”

 

Harry was worrying behind them, imagining just that. He had experienced his godfather’s infamous immaturity and rambunctiousness firsthand since visiting Grimmauld Place, so he knew he would have to keep an eye on the man as the evening progressed.

 

Gaara was wistfully regretting giving in too easily to Sirius’ silly idea. Honestly, _camping_ and _Quidditch_ …

 

Sirius stopped by a larger, unoccupied area that was probably theirs and their neighbour’s patches. They unloaded their bags and cases and Remus insisted that they should set up now, before cracking open the firewhisky and other smuggled-in muggle alcohols like Padfoot suggested.

 

The tent did not seem quite as luxurious as Sirius had assured Gaara it was going to be. It was sizeable by tent standards, he supposed. Taller than himself and would certainly contain enough floor space for Harry, Sirius and he to lie down, but by the way Sirius had been talking since he belatedly told Gaara they were going, Gaara had come to imagine some sort of comfortable magical holiday home.

 

Sirius had taken note of the distinctly unimpressed expression on Gaara’s face and the concerned one on Harry’s (possibly responding to the fact that he would likely be sleeping in close proximity to the displeased redhead that night). The bearded ex-convict secured the final tether with a flick of his wand and smirked. He would let the boys sweat for a little while longer while he helped Remus with his one-man tent.

 

Harry’s face had indeed been reflecting the thought of being unconscious within four feet of Gaara (who he was still not entirely convinced was not secretly evil), but he had also been dwelling on the attention their group had been receiving since they arrived.

 

Sirius was a celebrity that many openly stared at as they had wandered to their patch, and Harry was known to be in his company and was somewhat recognisable in his own right by now, even with _The Scar_ covered by his fringe. Even Professor Lupin had garnered responses, typically of fear, as Sirius was known to keep company with a werewolf. Then came Gaara who some knew to be the hero of the Attack on Hogwarts and who was also in the company of Mr Black. Other stared at Gaara because of his curious image and the gourd strapped to his hip.

 

In all, the foursome had quickly become the talk of the shanty town. Luckily, Sirius’ direct neighbours were foreigners on one side (who had no idea who Sirius was and who seemed to already be tipsy long before the match had even begun), and on the other…

 

“Good morning, Mr Potter,” Announced an officious boy in his late teens.

 

Gaara had the strongest feeling that he had House Points subtracted by the boy approaching them, but he couldn’t remember a name. A Weasley, to be sure, but which one?

 

“Morning, Percy. Where are Mr and Mrs Weasley and the others? Did you come ahead?” Harry replied as the boy reached them.

 

“I have my apparition license now, so Bill, Charlie and I were sent ahead. They were with me but they wandered off.”

 

“Well, you know Professor Lupin of course, and you probably crossed talked to Gaara once or twice last year,” Harry smirked. “And you met Sirius at my party.”

 

Sirius stepped forward to shake hands, enjoying the nervous, queasy turn the boy had taken at being confronted by both a werewolf and a convicted (and exonerated) mass murderer without anybody to act as a buffer. Then Gaara closed in and Percy looked around for witnesses.

 

It occurred to Harry that Percy had been given the dubious title of Head Boy and was thus supposed to be a model Gryffindor, and yet looking at the skinny ginger he thought there had not been a lion so cowardly since Dorothy’s time in Oz.

 

“Ay up, Perce. Big bad wolf not gobbled you up yet?” Someone yelled from the path.

 

Gaara’s silently groaned. Great, more Weasleys…

 

As if Gaara’s association with Harry that Sirius’ relationship necessitated were not bad enough, it seemed he was doomed to find himself surrounded by Weasleys on a regular basis as an added consequence.

 

Bill and Charlie were introduced, having been out of the country for the past few years when Harry might otherwise have met them. They were as friendly as any Weasley he had ever encountered and were even more interesting to talk to, considering one cracked curses for goblins and the other handled dragons. Even Gaara had taken an interest in tales of those two professions.

 

They had greeted Gaara like any friend of the family despite their family’s long-standing feud with any member of Slytherin. Clearly saving a few of their lives was good for some conviviality.

 

They had also taken great joy in keeping Percy near Lupin and Black. Strangely enough, despite the family siding with Gaara, Percy looked almost as nervous around Gaara as he did around the werewolf in their midst. Charlie had quietly assured Gaara that Percy was just a sissy for believing all of those Ministry rumours.

 

Gaara did not care, other than that the government of this country was circulating gossip about him.

 

Bill had taken an interest in Gaara, mostly because he was a fifteen year old with tattoos and eyeliner of his face (or so he assumed). The older redhead confided that he had a tattoo already but he wanted one or two more in visible places, but his mother would surely kill him. Gaara could not imagine Molly Weasley, who he had met on a couple occasions, killing anybody. When he said so, he garnered laughter from the two un-terrified Weasley present, which he did not fully understand.

 

Despite his trepidation about Sirius’ responsibility and the attention they were attracting, Harry was having the time of his life. Surrounded by even more witches and wizards than Hogwarts, all of whom were Quidditch supporters, ready to party. It was heaven on Earth.

 

As the gingers unloaded the small bags they had brought with them, Sirius mentioned that he was pretty sure he had met Bill and Charlie before, when they were younger. During the war, when Sirius, Remus and James were acquainted with Molly and Arthur in some unspecified manner, they had encountered the oldest Weasley children once or twice. Neither of the Weasley men remembered these meetings, but they were interested to hear anecdotes of the period.

 

Clearly both boys wanted to hear war stories the older men had no interest in telling. Instead they got a handful of remembrances of the embarrassing things the Weasley men had said and done when they were young children.

 

They were saved from making excuses for their banal tales when Harry asked about the tent, unable to see how the three-man tent was a ‘magical marvel’ that ‘makes camping as comfortable as staying in a hotel’. Both boys were sceptical when Sirius offered a ‘tour’ seeing as all three would not be able to stand inside of the tent.

 

Sirius stepped in and Harry followed carefully after, expecting to bump into his godfather in the cramped tent. Instead, he stepped into what looked like a luxurious marquee, replete with an enormous sitting area and a series of offshoots that Harry assumed were bedrooms. It looked marvellous and magical.

 

Gaara stepped in, even more carefully than Harry had, and gave the cavernous area a once-over before nodding and walking into one of the individual areas. Harry watched him pass by and was befuddled by Gaara’s total nonchalance.

 

He shook his head and got back into the spirit of things. Gaara did not re-emerge from his nook, so Sirius started the tour in that area, not allowing Gaara a moments peace until he set down his book and followed them. Remus had wandered in with the Weasley boys to see the tent.

 

“Blimey, it’s even bigger than ours! And it’s just the four of you in here?” Bill said, looking around the tent big enough to fit ten very comfortably.

 

“Yes, well, no actually. I have my own tent. It’s just Sirius, Harry and Gaara in here.”

 

“Waste of space, that is.” Charlie remarked.

 

“I still don’t get why you can’t sleep in here, Professor Lupin,” Harry said. “It’s not about, you know, your…problem, is it?”

 

“No, it’s nothing like that. I just don’t trust Sirius to leave me alone when I’m asleep without a lockable door to protect me.” He smirked, making Harry sweat. “Plus his snoring is monstrous.”

 

Remus was just about to suggest that he go and set up his own well-used (muggle) tent when they heard a commotion outside. Suspending the tour, they all filed out to find half a dozen more redheads and a brunette waiting outside.

 

“Harry!” Ron and Hermione chorused inharmoniously and ran up to greet him. 

 

At that moment, Molly stormed up to her two eldest sons to give them an earful for disregarding her order to take the bulk of the bags with them and begin setting up the tent. Instead, Percy had taken his assigned bags but the other two had taken only the smallest bags and run off. Leaving her and Arthur to wrangle the children and keep track of everything else.

 

Percy of course denied any foreknowledge, while the other swatted him over the back of the head before they received their own swats.

 

Once Molly had told off her children, she swept up Harry into her customary hug and then looked at where Gaara had been moments before. He was walking quickly back towards his tent but she marched over and caught him too, eliciting a ‘grumpy’ look from him, and a snicker from Sirius. Molly sent Sirius a scathing look as she finally released the prickly teen.

 

She had never felt someone tense up so rigidly when she held them, not even Harry. It was worrying, to say the least. Still, repeated exposure should clear that up!

 

Fred and George took their mother’s distraction and their father’s preoccupation in putting up the tent (he would not accept any help in putting it up) to approach Sirius. In the most conspicuously secret fashion, they took him aside and proposed a rather sizeable wager on the outcome of the game. They had been saving all of the profits from their joke products for a while now and they were ready to put up nearly a hundred galleons.

 

“Of course I won’t make a bet with you; you’re far too young to be wasting your money like that!” Sirius loudly declared, barely earning a second look for the Weasley parents who had been expecting their troublesome sons to try something like this.

 

Once Sirius saw the elder Weasleys refocus on their own tasks, satisfied that Mr Black had not been drawn into the twins’ latest mischief, he signalled the twins to follow him around behind the tent.

 

“I’ll put 250 galleons on Ireland to catch the snitch and win the game.” He said, stroking his beard as he had started to do lately.

 

“Make it 500!” Fred declared.

 

George blanched and pulled Fred further aside and whispered, “We don’t have 500 galleons!”

 

“We don’t have 250 either. Might as well make it a real bet,” Fred smiled. George looked fearful for only a moment longer before joining his brother.

 

“Deal!” George said.

 

Sirius beamed, sticking out his hand to shake. He suspected the boys did not have that much money but he would take whatever they did have and maybe a few favours in lieu of the full amount. It would serve as a valuable lesson. On the other hand, if Sirius lost he would happily funnel the money his evil family had been hording for hundreds of years into a ‘blood traitor’ family.

 

Either way it would serve to make the game even more interesting.

 

Re-emerging from their seclusion, Sirius grimaced when he saw that Molly was not letting Gaara stray too far. She seemed to be under the impression that Gaara’s light stature and trim figure was the result of neglect, of him by himself or his guardian. Resultantly she was shooting Sirius occasional suspicious glares and keeping Gaara close.

 

After the shock had settled, he kept the smirk off of his face. It looked as if, in between dirty looks directed at Sirius, Molly was giving Gaara a scolding for not eating properly.

 

Ginny eventually rescued Gaara, dragging away the put-upon boy. Harry, Ron and Hermione had gone for a stroll and the twins were off looking for other bets they couldn’t afford to make, so Gaara was the only other teenager around (Percy did _not_ count!)

 

Gaara had not had much contact with Ginny Weasley before, the most memorable encounter being the girl’s attempt to slap him when she thought he was trying to… corrupt (?) Luna. He still had no idea what that had been about.

 

Now, however, Ginny was quite happy to converse with him and chat about Luna, it seemed. It was better than listening to Mrs Weasley tell him off for not eating enough and for not getting enough sleep. The latter he could hardly help (he felt like a complete sloth if he had more than 15 hours of sleep a week), and the former he disagreed with. He had a small frame, perhaps, but he happily ate as much as Sirius (if he was hungry). Granted, since he was doing very little exercise he did not tend to work up much of an appetite, but he could not imagine his diminished nutritional intake was to blame for his growth stunt.

 

Ginny insisted on showing Gaara their tent since it was ‘absolutely massive’, according to her. It was actually the size down from Sirius’ oversized family tent, but it was several decades newer. Orion Black had bought their tent in the early 1960s for such events (and Muggle hunting expeditions), and had made sure there was enough room for his family, friends and at least one valet. Plus enough room for Kreacher to keep out of sight.

 

Sirius sometimes wondered what happened to Mr Wentwhistle, his father’s valet. Cold but not cruel, he had disappeared sometime during Sirius’ second year at Hogwarts and had never been replaced. His mother and father also refused to speak of him ever again.

 

When Gaara mentioned that Sirius’ tent was bigger than the Weasley pavilion, Ginny insisted on seeing it.

 

“This is ridiculous. How come you’ve got all of this room for just three of you?” Ginny had been camping with her family before, and being cramped in with her brothers and her parents was not conducive to the sort of beauty sleep she needed (especially if she was going to be seeing Harry in the morning!)

 

She threw a nearby throw pillow at Fred (or George) when they made a snarky comment about her state in the morning and Harry. She would have preferred throwing a spell or two.

 

Gaara ignored the family feud and used the distraction to hide in his “room”. The secluded nook of the tent would give him enough peace and privacy to continue reading the one book he had been ‘allowed’ to bring with him. He still had an hour before they would all need to head towards the stadium for the game. If the others left the tent soon, he might continue on his animagus training, which was reaching a new stage that actually included some limited transformation.

 

Sadly it only took five minutes for Molly and Sirius to work who was missing from their group, other than the trio who were within sight milling about the camp ground. Sirius elected to fetch his wayward ward.

 

In the end, Sirius wheedled at Gaara to get him to join in the festivities, and when that did not work he had to transform and steal Gaara’s book. Sirius had long since learned the “rules” of Gaara’s so-called ultimate defence. As long as there was no malicious intent or chance that Gaara would be hurt, his sand would not automatically block any action around him.

 

So unless he had somehow seen it coming, there was nothing Gaara could have done to prevent the terribly irritating dog from snatching his book in its teeth and running away with it.

 

Sighing, Gaara knew there was nothing he could say that would convince Sirius to leave him be, so he followed the dog out hoping to retrieve his book before the saliva and teeth marks ruined it.

 

Padfoot had turned back into Sirius by the time Gaara emerged, but refused to return the book, saying, “You can bloody well get it back _after_ the match. Maybe tomorrow.”

 

Gaara sat on one of the logs that had been set before the fire pit, and waited. He was able to stare into the flames and peacefully contemplate for all of seventeen seconds before George and Fred plopped down on either side of him.

 

Sirius was wandering around the campsite with Harry this time, enjoying the busyness of the area enormously. They continued to draw stares and Harry came to envy his godfather’s apparent ability to ignore all of the attention.

 

“Have you spent any time in your trunk yet?”

 

“Loads, lately. I’ve been doing all of my homework down there.” Harry did not want to worry Sirius by admitting that he had moved his duvet and pillows into the enlarged trunk a week ago.

 

“Good, I’m glad. I don’t think Gaara has even looked inside his yet,” Sirius said, bitterly. To be fair, Gaara had very few possessions of his own, even fewer than Harry, so there was not much he needed to store in the giant storage device.

 

Harry had not been surprised to hear that Gaara received a special trunk also, and he had worked very hard to not let it bug him. “It’s amazing, it really is. I was thinking of asking Professor McGonagall about it when I go back in September. I want to know what magic was used to make it.”

 

“That’s a good idea, though I would suggest Flitwick instead of McGonagall. It’s a charm rather than a transfiguration so he is probably more apt to explain it. Though McGonagall knows just about everything, so you wouldn’t be wrong to approach her either, really.”

 

“Oh, okay. I will.” Harry was a little embarrassed to admit he did not know anything about how the trunk was spelled.

 

Gaara was getting the impression, like at Potter’s birthday, that people thought he secretly longed for company so they continually approached him.

 

Before the match, Sirius, Remus and Arthur had been ready to crack out the booze until Molly had seen her boys (minus Percy and Ron) shifting towards the men and put a stop to it. She did not care how old Bill and Charlie were, she would not stand for them getting drunk. She said as much and forbid any bottles (or kegs…) from being opened until after the match. She would have happily extended the ban indefinitely, but she knew there was no hope of it standing after the match finished.

 

With his drunken ambitions thwarted, Sirius sloped over to Gaara and sat a respectable distance away from him on the log. Both of the sullen males stayed client until, as always, Sirius was the one to break it.

 

“Want to go and say hello to Draco before the match? You’ve got time before we have to go.”

 

Gaara shook his head. He would see Draco sooner or later, and he would be back to living in close quarters with him in a couple weeks time, so he didn’t see the need to rush. Plus, it wasn’t like Draco would be unsafe with his father alone…

 

He would wander over after the game and spend a little time there.

 

It was Percy who noticed the time (his watch habitually set one minute early), and insisted that everybody get going.

 

The group of fourteen joined the mass crowd all filtering towards the dozens of inlets for the gigantic stadium. It had hastily been agreed that they would stand a better chance of all making it to where they were going if they split up into groups of three or four rather than trying to pull everyone through the throngs of people in one line.

 

The children were divided between the adults and Gaara ended up with Charlie and Bill, it having been decided that he was mature enough to handle being under the care of the immature ‘adult’ Weasley sons.

 

He did not care much about the arrangements, having been disallowed from bringing a book. He was sulking as he followed the distinctive men into the busiest area. Soon his sullenness died as Bill and Charlie took each of his hands in theirs and pulled him along when the human density threatened to divide them. His sullenness died, but his rage grew. 

 

They were practically swimming in humans by the time they entered the tunnel, and Gaara was not handling it very well. He was dangerously close to using his sand to get some much needed space, and to retrieve his hands which he could not shake free of the redheads dragging him onwards.

 

When they reached the multitude of staircases that led up or down to the different seating blocks and the crowds finally thinned, Gaara’s ‘responsible adults’ looked back and quickly let go of him when they saw the look on his face. They stepped aside and let Gaara lead the way from that point.

 

After a couple flights, they caught up to the others of their party who had pushed through the crowds quicker than Gaara’s had been able. Everyone was relieved to see the missing trio arrive, having worried about leaving Gaara and the oldest Weasley children to their own devices. Sirius had been sure Gaara would escape and would double back. Molly had been sure they would sneak the poor boy off somewhere and leave him to fend for himself (the number of times she had to go and find Ron because they had ‘lost him’ somewhere when he was little).

 

With relief abounding, they all proceeded up the endless stairs. They climbed at least a dozen flights before they reached their box, the undisciplined wizards struggling to breathe while Gaara did not even feel winded.

 

The procession of Weasley and others halted on the stairs, however, and Gaara heard a heated exchange coming from above. Two very familiar voices trading barbs rang down through the steps and finally Gaara was feeling the same weight his flabby/stringy companions.

 

He slipped past the halted Weasleys until he came to the front of the queue where he found Draco insulting Harry in very much the manner that he had thought Draco grew out of. He blamed this regression on Lucius, standing imperiously to the side, sneering at everyone on the stares.

 

Gaara continued up, glad that Sirius was at the back of the line with Bill and Charlie. The last thing the situation needed was his guardian picking a fight with Lucius before the game. Hermione was trying to keep Harry calm and out of punching/kicking distance of his rival, and Ron was doing the opposite.

 

Gaara pushed through to stand on the landing.

 

“Draco.” Was all the greeting he was inclined to give. It also served as a warning.

 

“Oh, hello, Gaara.” Draco assiduously avoided making eye contact with Gaara, properly cowed for being caught doing something stupid.

 

Harry and Ron saw that Draco’s handler had shown up and settled for angrily muttering to themselves. Hermione thought it was funny that Gaara was Draco’s handler as much as Draco was Gaara’s. It was a curiously symbiotic relationship.

 

She did not mention this interesting observation because the only people within earshot were revisiting the theory (which Ron had hit upon multiple times despite Hermione and occasionally Harry rebutting it) that Gaara was Voldemort’s illegitimate son. Despite the total lack of evidence pointing to this theory, and the fact that Tom Riddle did not have blazing red hair or Gaara’s particularly potent brand of Crazy Eyes, Ron seemed to come back to this theory again and again.

 

“The next generation of Death Eaters falling behind the next generation of Dark Lord…” Ron murmured, looking at Draco’s blatant deference to Gaara.

 

Hermione rolled her eyes, saw Harry was solemnly nodding along, and had to let loose a great big sigh at her moronic best friends.

 

Sirius pushed his way past, not nearly as politely as Voldemort’s only begotten son had moments before, wanting to see what the hold-up had been.

 

“Why, hello Sirius. You’re looking well.” Lucius smiled, all teeth.

 

“And you Lucius,” Sirius shot back, “I _adore_ what you’re done with your hair. Is that a new conditioner?”

 

Sirius’ mocking smile irritated Lucius almost as much as the fact that he _had_ switched to a new conditioner recently, at Narcissa’s request.

 

“I’m afraid we really must be getting to our seats, come along Draco. They have a long way to walk, to the cheap seats, and we wouldn’t want them to miss the inaugural address.”

 

Sirius’ smile just grew.

 

“Oh, dear, oh, no, Lucius, I’m afraid you’re mistaken. We’re all in the Minister’s box with you!”

 

Lucius’ eyes were the only part of his face that betrayed his abject horror at the thought of sharing his peacefully and dignified booth with such a lowly and rowdy crowd.

 

Lucius could not trust himself to make a suitably witty retort so he turned and walked away into the private box.

 

Draco, on the other hand, was happy to have Gaara sitting with him. Granted, between his father’s poise and Gaara’s disinterest, he could not expect to share his enthusiasm with either of them, but just being there with friends and family was a treat. Hopefully he would be sitting in front of Potter and the gingers and he could pretend they weren’t there.

 

At the door to the box there was a burly security official to check tickets upon entry, which Gaara suspected was a measure not taken at any seating area but theirs. Sirius showed his three tickets and ushered Harry and Gaara to come in with him, followed by the long procession of Weasleys.

 

Harry couldn’t wait to see Fudge’s face when he saw the crowd of redheads, Sirius Black, a known werewolf, and Gaara all sitting in his special booth. It was not a happy thought that Harry could count himself amongst the positive presences for the Minister alongside Draco Malfoy and Lucius ‘almost-killed-the-boy-who-lived’ Malfoy.

 

Draco pulled Gaara ahead to the front-most row of seats where he was given the corner seat and Lucius took the aisle. Across the steps were three more seats, roped off with velvet, reserved for the Minister. Behind Gaara and the Malfoys sat Sirius, Harry and Ron, and behind them were the Weasleys and Hermione. Molly had happily taken the seat furthest back, wishing (in a manner reminiscent of Gaara) that she had been allowed to bring her knitting with her.

 

Percy had uncharacteristically been fighting with his brothers to sit closer to the front, not out of a particular interest in Quidditch but one of being spotted by the Fudge, Ludo Bagman, Barty Crouch and the special guests that were here by invitation of the Minister.

 

In previous matches, Lucius had been asked to sit on that side of the aisle but this year he had not ‘made the cut’. He would be making a mental list of the people who _had_ been asked, since such a list had not been disclosed to him a week ago when he asked.

 

Gaara looked out at the pitch and really was impressed. The scale was on an entirely different level than that of Hogwarts, with the stadium containing tens or even hundreds of thousands of witches and wizards from all around the world. It was scary really. He had not heard Shukaku make such a ruckus in years.

 

So many people cramped into such a compact area. If Gaara were to release the demon inside right now, it would be more than a massacre, it would be a step towards genocide, and the crazed tanuki was demanding nothing less.

 

Draco noticed the panic on Gaara’s face and correctly deduced it was from being faced with such a gathering of people (although he did not know the specific thoughts running around the redhead’s crowded mind).

 

“They’ll quieten down when the match starts up,” Draco shouted next to Gaara’s ear, just managing to make himself heard over the roaring fans. Since Gaara was such a recluse, it made sense that the cheering legions were upsetting him.

 

Gaara turned and nodded at Draco, appreciating the attempt at comfort.

 

He did not imagine he would find much comfort even when everyone stopped screaming, unless he followed the advice coming from within and made the screaming stop himself.

 

They heard footsteps coming down the steps of the box and turned to see a pair of Aurors escorting Minister Fudge between them, followed by a dozen foreign dignitaries and high Ministry officials including Ludo Bagman, but minus Lucius.

 

Lucius stood when he saw them, and Draco copied him. “Good evening, Minister,” Lucius offered his hand to shake, which Cornelius obliged with a smile.

 

“Good evening, Lucius. Quite the turnout you’ve got here,” He said, looking back at the Weasleys.

 

“Oh, no, they’re not here with me, Minister. Just my son. They are a separate party.” It was rude to correct the man, and more so to make the distinction at all, but Lucius would rather appear to be a little rude than be thought to associate with the likes of Arthur Weasley.

 

“Oh, right you are,” Fudge said politely, his focus having shifted from his subordinate and the multiplying Weasleys to the boy sat in the corner, paying him less mind than his office demanded. If it were any more formal an event, Fudge would have called a halt to everything until the child paid him the proper respect.

 

Instead, he tried to ignore the impudence, especially considering exactly who it was that was dismissing him, and instead moved on to other matters. His side of the box had filled and so it was time to take his place.

 

Gaara noticed Lucius and Draco and everyone behind them had stood to watch the Minister enter the box but despite the protocol he knew was as standard in this world and his own, he did not bother to get up out of his seat. If he had pulled such a stunt with his father or another Kage, they would most likely have him killed or do it themselves.

 

Gaara really wished Fudge would try that just once. Although, if he started fighting, his bloodlust might take over and…

 

His mind was working all the while, but to the Minister it had just appeared as if the boy had not even considered it. By the time Gaara worked out that he should probably observe the bare minimum of respect to the faulty leader, everyone was sitting down again and he had missed his chance. No one was holding a knife to his throat so he assumed either it had not been noticed, since he was in the corner, or they just did not care so much about those sorts of things in this world.

 

Fudge held his wand to his throat and for a second Gaara thought this was going to be a public suicide, until the politician spoke and his words were as audible through the din as if he had been speaking in a silent room. As the cheering and screaming and whistling stopped, he figured this effect was reaching everybody in the stadium. An interesting spell, especially to a battlefield commander, he thought.

 

The Minister for Magic gave a short commencement speech that did not interest Gaara, beyond the applications of the spell being used. When it was over, Fudge sat back down and looked to the field below them in obvious interest.

 

Out from one of the tunnels running straight onto the grass surface shot the entire team of Bulgarian players, flying almost so fast that Gaara missed them. Their speed, like the size of the stadium, was completely different to even Draco’s and Potter’s speed on their new Firebolt brooms. If Gaara was honest with himself, he would admit he was a little impressed by the speed of the manoeuvres.

 

From the same entryway came a group Gaara could not see clearly, though they looked like women. They were so far away Gaara would have needed to be a Hyūga or an Uchiha to see what was happening clearly.

 

Despite appearing to be a group of indistinct blobs, Gaara noticed a stirring in his head and in his heart that felt almost entirely unfamiliar. The closest he could remember was how he felt when he spent time with his friends and family, but different and more intense. Blood was rushing to his cheeks but he did not understand why and, managing to tear his eyes away to glance at Draco and Lucius, he saw they too were focussing intently on the group with blushes and smiles.

 

Oh, It was a Genjutsu of some sort! It had to be. Yet another similarity to his own world’s techniques.

 

So this technique was supposed to inspire an emotional reaction to a sight, it was activated like the Sharingan techniques. The emotion was… affection…friendship…Something along those lines. Perhaps Draco would know if he asked later. Until then, he dispelled the technique in the usual way and it came away easily enough. When his sight was no longer drawn towards the women on the field, he looked around and noticed that nobody had been aware to or been able to dispel the technique. Or rather, none of the males had been able to free themselves. The women watching were apparently unaffected.

 

Strange…  
  
It also gave Gaara the unhealthy thought that he would be able to take over this world if he only knew a few genjutsu techniques. Oh, wait, no. That was Shukaku giving him those thoughts.

 

Now the beast was telling him to slaughter them all while they were still under the spell…

 

The spell was broken by another team flying through and disrupting the formation of women, and immediately the crowd starting cheering either for the supernaturally alluring Bulgarian mascots or the Irish team that had flown into view.

 

The two opposing team continued their laps of the three-dimensional ‘field’ as the Irish mascots emerged, a squad of absolutely tiny humanoids that Gaara’s could only see because of their bright green outfits and red hair. They were dancing around and suddenly gold fell from the sky and Weasley (Ron) moved quicker than Gaara had ever seen him move before. He managed to gather some of the precious metal from the air and the box floor before his embarrassed mother pulled him back to his seat and went back to hers. All over the stadium people were snatching gold from in front of them and from each other in a mad flurry.

 

The two teams had settled on the grass flooring as the gold coins stopped raining, and were presumably being given a moment to get into their starting positions.

 

Draco, a great smile on his face, leaned into shout to Gaara, “Did you see Weasley drooling over those gold coins?! I’m surprised his whole family didn’t go crawling for them!”

 

“They will disappear in a few hours.” Gaara had read that leprechaun gold had a tendency to disappear without warning. He would have wondered how so many magical men and women did not know this simple fact but he only knew it because he had gone to the trouble of reading a book on magical creatures (looking for info on tanuki) and had seen the obscure fact.

 

Draco looked a little downhearted at that, having covertly slid a couple coins under his seat to collect after the game, under the guise of tying his shoes when they were leaving. It would have been nice to have a little money he did not have to get as pocket money.

 

The twins had seen the coins being slipped under mini-Malfoy’s chair and promptly leaned forward and added them to the stash of what they had caught. They needed it much more than Money Bags Jr., they reasoned.

 

“Did you see those Veela!” Draco said, looking about, trying to see where the distracting beings had gotten off to.

 

“Veela?”

 

“The women. They’re really magical beings that make men fall in love with them. Dirty trick by the Bulgarians.”

 

Gaara raised an eyebrow that for all intents and purposes did not exist. So that sensation had been physical attraction? Interesting. He tried to match it to any other similar feelings he had ever experienced, but he’d never felt it before. He would have to compare notes with Temari when he got back. He did not know if Draco had any experience with romance (he doubted it) but he knew Temari was in love with that one Konoha boy. Kankuro had said it numerous times.

 

The respite ended as the players remounted their brooms and rose to their starting positions and the Quaffle was thrown into the air and the whistle was blown.

 

Gaara was genuinely impressed by the acrobatics and the speed the athletes displayed on their brooms as they played the altogether more interesting version of Quidditch than that which he had suffered through watching before. It occurred to him that if he were to fight these flying wizards, it would be a very difficult fight. The greatest disadvantage wizards had in combat against him was that they tended to be slow and immobile, easy to strike at and dodge.

 

Of course, the only reason his mind had gone to combat was that Shukaku had still not shut up. He was getting a serious headache.

 

The professional players raced about so fast he was struggling to keep up with everything at once. At one point, one of the Bulgarians was knocked off of his broom, but his teammates paid him no mind and he was rescued only a few metres above the ground by a spell sent out by the referee at the last second.

 

In the background, one of the Ministry men who had entered with Fudge was speaking into a microphone and rattling off a suitably fast-paced commentary.

 

He had not been paying any attention to the scores, only the movements of the balls and brooms, so when the young Bulgarian Seeker caught the Snitch, Gaara was baffled when the Irish were announced as the winners. Although, Gaara did not fully understand the rules to begin with, so he had been under the impression that catching the Snitch was the object of the game.

 

Draco interrupted his overzealous cheering to interpret Gaara’s quizzical expression and explain the results. Gaara thought it was terribly unfair on the Bulgarian Seeker.

 

While the initial celebrating was going on, the Twins, with smiles bigger than Gaara thought physically possible, stood from their seats and (for the first time Gaara could remember witnessing) split to approach two different men.

 

Sirius, who was smiling despite his approaching debt collector, pulled out a piece of paper and a little pencil Remus had given him, and wrote out an IOU for 500 galleons. He was going to have a hard time explaining this to Molly (Arthur would understand quickly enough, he thought), and to his accountant (whenever he got around to actually hiring one to manage his family’s investments).

 

Fred took the IOU with a raised eyebrow. If he didn’t know where Sirius lived, and that he was fabulously wealthy and careless with his money, he might have been disinclined to let an IOU suffice. As it was Sirius Black, of all people, he would wait until they could all go to Gringotts together.

 

George had approached Ludo Bagman, having to ask his way past the bodyguard watching Fudge (who had ordered the guards to keep an eye on Black, Lucius, and Gaara, but felt no threat from Arthur Weasley’s son). Bagman was sweating profusely and begged to be allowed to collect the money from his tent since he had not brought it with him. George figured, since it was _the_ Ludo Bagman, he could trust him this far. Plus it was a relatively small sum compared to the ridiculous amount they had bet Sirius.

 

Bagman did not seem up to closing the ceremony, despite having commentated the entire match, so Fudge stood to do it again. The man was a disgrace, the Minister thought. If Bagman managed to make it through the next year without screwing up, he would be moved to another less prominent position where he couldn’t cause any more problems. If he managed to mess up Fudge’s last chance, he would make sure to bring ruin to Bagman’s life even more than the pathetic man had managed to do on his own.

 

The twins had returned to their seats and were scribbling away on the back of Sirius’ IOU, working out exactly how much more they needed to open their dream. It looked like they would only need an investment of 500 galleons, but to get that they would need to find someone willing to go in with them as partners.

 

Lucius had enjoyed the game, as much as he ever enjoyed the vulgar entertainments of the plebeians. He might have appreciated the match a little more had Sirius Black not spent the duration screaming right behind his ear and ‘accidentally’ spilling popcorn all over him. Twice!

 

“Minister,” Lucius said as soon as the departing Minister was within earshot, “I do hope you will do me the honour of joining me for a brandy.”

 

“I’m afraid not, Lucius. I won’t be staying in the camp tonight. I have a meeting early tomorrow I need to be ready for.” Fudge, who had always done his best to keep Lucius happy and would always entertain an offer from the influential pureblood, hardly spared the blond a second glance.

 

Stunned by the dismissal, Lucius was hardly aware enough to say the proper farewells to his colleagues and the foreign dignitaries that _had_ been invited with Cornelius and who were presumably following him to the Minister’s private residence for a dignified after party. He did not know what he had done to cause this rift but Lucius was determined he would repair it before it was too late and he was forced to abandon the Minister he had spent a decade shoring up.

 

Step one would be to work his way in between Cornelius and Morbidus.

 

Gaara watched the Minister for Magic leave the box with his guests and his guards, standing not out of respect but because his group were also about to leave and had to wait for the politician to depart first. Lucius seemed to have been snubbed but perhaps that was just how Lucius and Fudge interacted normally. Probably not, judging by the defeated posture of the proud aristocrat.

 

Lucius corrected his appearance, brushed off the remaining popcorn crumbs, and turned to his son and Gaara.

 

“Gaara, if you would like to enjoy some more civilised company this evening, please do stop by our tent for a visit.” Lucius managed a smile for his son’s friend, something he had never bothered with before.

 

“Thank you. I will.”

 

“After you’ve partied with us first!” Sirius piped from the row behind.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

The partying had commenced immediately, on a scale Gaara had not imagined possible, after the crowds had exited the stadium. Fred and George had run off despite their mother’s loud admonition, intent on finding Ludo Bagman and claiming the rest of their winnings.

 

Needing some time alone, Gaara had also broken away from the group and ran through (and briefly on top of) the crowd to beat them back to the tent. This way he could get five minutes of peace before Sirius and Harry might barge into the enormous marquee and disturb him.

 

He heard them as soon as they arrived, the younger among them making an ungodly racket as they cheered and yelled about the match and the individual players. Sirius poked his head in and looked relieved to see Gaara sat on his temporary bed. Without a word, he retreated outside and rejoined the celebration.

 

It had not occurred to Gaara for a second that running off in the middle of a crowd like that might have given Sirius cause to worry. The oblivious Jinchūriki was still a bit puzzled, to be honest.

 

Outside, the adults were quickly getting drunk and Molly was left to keep everybody fed and stop them from doing anything dangerous. She was hoping the buns accompanying the barbecue would soak up some of the alcohol Sirius had been sneaking all the way back from the stadium from his hidden (not-so-hidden) hipflask.

 

It was really Remus’ flask, but Sirius had snatched it off of him a couple weeks ago and refused to return it.

 

After she had handed out most of the food, she ushered the children (“We’re not children, mum!”) inside of her and Arthur’s tent so they could continue their excited antics safely and secluded from the sight the irresponsible would-be role models getting pissed, including her two oldest babies.

 

Speaking of which irresponsible drunkards, she headed off Sirius before he could go and bother Gaara. The poor boy was obviously very shy and wanted some time to himself. He had done very well today, she thought. She would have liked to tell him that, but she instinctively knew he would not appreciate the comment.

 

She redirected Sirius in Remus’ direction and took a plate in for Gaara since he had not sought out the feast earlier. No wonder he was so skinny, skipping meals like this!

 

He was a sweet boy really, no matter what anyone said. He was always so polite, too.

 

It was getting late, so she entered her tent and settled on her bed with the first book she had bought since she finished Gilderoy Lockhart’s. She had been put off reading after Ronald told her about that man’s real character.

 

The parties were beginning to wind down, although in some areas they were just getting started. Sirius was a little bummed that Molly had stopped him from saying hello to Gaara. She made it sound like he was going to start him on a life of crime. It was just a little drink!

 

At least drunk-Remus was there to distract him. And the older Weasley boys were funny too. And Arthur had always been a treat when he’d had a few, when he stopped worrying about _everything_.

 

Inside Gaara ate a little of the lightly burned food (the definition of a good barbecue was clearly another difference in this world), and decided now was as good a time as any to drop by the Malfoy tent. Catch them before bed and keep it brief.

 

He had been second-guessing the need for his checking up on Draco all evening. Being around Sirius, who had never seemed so happy in all the time Gaara had known him, surrounded by his friends and family, Gaara had started to think that perhaps the good mood Lucius and Draco had been in at the match was genuine and there was no need for concern.

 

Doubt and suspicion won out in the end; he was never one to trust in the wonder and beauty of family moments. As he finished the overheated cup of fire-top tea, he was just about ready to head to wherever Draco was staying. He hoped Sirius was still sober enough to be able to point him in the right direction.

 

He was just setting his book down when he heard a scream in the distance, probably on the other side of the camp, but still loud and shrill enough to cut through the lulling parties. The scream was followed by the sounds of an explosion and more screaming.

 

It was a sound he was intimately familiar with, the sounds of battle! And Shukaku was laughing.


	2. Same Old Impulses

The screams were even louder outside of the tent and were growing exponentially as the campers fleeing the battle joined in the cacophony. Gaara looked around, trying to pinpoint where the noise was originating from, but with the size of the tents all around him and the crowds rushing about in every direction, all he could surmise was that the damage was being done quite a distance away.

 

Out of the Weasley tent came the slew of redheads packed in, as well as Harry and Hermione, all looking equally alarmed. Sirius, Remus and Arthur had still been out when it kicked off and were nowhere to be seen.

 

“It’ll be the Irish.” Bill Weasley alleged, having overcome his initial shock and looked ready to return to whatever game he had been playing inside.

 

Molly looked less sure.

 

“It’s not the Irish!” Arthur said, running back into the area, all of his inebriated jollity now dispelled.

 

Sirius and Remus were following close behind him, both of their wands drawn.

 

“What’s going on?” Molly demanded, pushing her way to the front of the children.

 

“It’s a raid. Someone’s attacking in the Eastern sector, causing all sorts of damage.” Sirius said. Gaara was beginning to suspect that there was a potion to remove alcohol from ones blood.

 

“Who?!” Molly was looking even more worried than Ginny.

 

“We don’t know yet, but they might be…they’re wearing black robes and…well… We’re going to go back out and help. Aurors haven’t arrived yet.” Sirius was looking around at the gathered children, but only stopped after his eyes had darted over Harry and then spotted Gaara coming from the other tent.

 

“Go and wait in the woods until the Ministry shows up.” Arthur said.

 

“Or until we come and get you.” Sirius commanded them.

 

“You want us to run and hide in the woods while you’re going to fight who-knows-how-many wizards?! Surely you can’t be serious?!” Hermione yelled.

 

Sirius turned to her, his face devoid of the usual warmth he displayed around Harry and his friends, and he said, “I _am_ Sirius, and don’t call me Shirley.”

 

Remus face-palmed.

 

A particularly loud explosion went off in the distance and broke the reverie; Sirius made eye contact with his favourite recalcitrant foreigner and said one last thing, “Gaara, stay with Harry.”

 

The men turned and ran in the direction of the attack and that gave the group the signal to get running.

 

The Weasleys all tried to stick together, but like the walk to the stadium, it soon became impossible to stay in one group amongst the panicked masses all surging around them. Gaara heeded Sirius’ words and stayed next to Harry even after being separated from Ron and Hermione.

 

At one point, as they reached the woods, Harry tripped over something, or possibly someone, and Gaara had to dive back and help him to his feet before the Boy-Who-Lived was trampled to death. He pulled the black haired civilian onwards, not noticing the pair of glasses that had slipped off of Harry’s nose and were already being smashed into the forest dirt. From then he kept one hand on Harry’s shoulder (despite his innate aversion to any physical contact) and guided him into the dark woods until the mass of people thinned out and the noise settled.

 

With the half-moon obscured by clouds and the trees, and his glasses long gone, Harry was almost totally blind as he stumbled after the blur of red (or possibly brown, in this light). The uneven ground he was being dragged across was a nightmare to navigate as he was.

 

Gaara could have stopped where they were, set Harry against a tree and rested until someone found them, but he didn’t have time to wait like that. He pulled Harry as quickly as he could, all over the forest looking for a Weasley or two. If he had more sand, he would have simply carried Harry as he went. He would have been half tempted to put Harry on his back and run like that, but for the fact that he despised physical proximity and he doubted the Gryffindor would take kindly to it either.

 

Finally, in the quiet of the woods, he heard someone yelling, “Harry! Gaara!”

 

Gaara pulled Harry along until they were upon the majority of the Weasley clan, all huddled close together with Ginny in the middle (she did not look too happy with this penguin-esque arrangement).

 

“Oh, dears!” Molly exclaimed when she spotted them. “Harry, what happened to your glasses? Oh, and your clothes, you’re a mess!” She started to brush the dirt from his clothes and then cupped his face in her hands so she could get a better look.

 

When she deemed he was injury-free, she moved on to Gaara, who didn’t look the least ruffled, and was not out of breath, which didn’t stop her checking him over.

 

“I’m going back.” Gaara said.

 

“What?!” About four Weasleys and a Granger shouted in response.

 

“Draco was in the camp. And the others may need help.” He _was_ a trained fighter, after all. It seemed only natural.

 

“Gaara, dear, you can’t go back out there. I’m sure Draco will be absolutely fine. And you have to leave the fighting to the adults. They’ll be back soon, you’ll see.” Molly had just said something similar to all of her eager sons who wanted to prove their bravery.

 

It was terribly similar to when Bill, Charlie and Percy were much younger, during the war, and they asked when Arthur would be back and she had to tell them ‘They’ll be back soon, you’ll see.’

 

Ron butted his way to the front, “Malfoy’s probably in on it, anyway. Leave him to it.”

 

Gaara spared him a glance, having considered the possibility that Malfoy (Lucius) might well be involved, but he knew for a fact that even if Draco had been dragged into a conflict like this, he was not ready for battle.

 

Real children tended not to be.

 

He ducked under Molly’s hand that had reached for his shoulder, and then ran back the way he had come. He heard one or two of the larger gingers try to give chase and a number of shouts ring out, but with the darkness, the uneven terrain and his superior speed, Gaara had little trouble evading his pursuers.

 

He darted around the clusters of scared World Cup attendees huddled around the woods, and soon enough he was back out in the relatively bright campgrounds, still illuminated by the bonfires and mounted torches burning about the place. He could see in one direction the glow of a larger fire and assumed that was where the attack was taking place.

 

He wished he had let Sirius show him where the ‘fancy area’ of the camp was as he was now left with little choice but to run towards the biggest tents he could see and hope they were in that general direction. He was gratified to see that as he ran the tents were indeed getting to be much nicer, cleaner and more expensive looking.

 

As he cut through the clusters of tents, he absently jumped up and kicked a looter in the head and continued without breaking his pace. He reached what looked to be an actual fence running along a very nice and neat looking area of the camp ground, filled with the best tents yet. He skirted around the perimeter and soon he reached the gateway to the premium area.

 

Gaara was not particularly surprised to see that it was guarded by a pair of wizards, though it was a little startling to see that not only were they wearing black cloaks, like the attackers, but they were also wearing silver masks. He had read a number of recently published wizarding history books, and that apparel could only mean one thing: Death Eaters.

 

Sadly it also meant that Lucius almost certainly _was_ involved in whatever was happening, but hopefully the man had enough sense to leave Draco out of it. Since there were guards posted here, perhaps that was a sign that there were people here that might need to be protected. Although, from who or what, Gaara could not fathom.

 

Knowing Lucius and the sort of people that had been invited to the Malfoy Christmas party, these two were most likely just here to keep out looters.

 

Gaara didn’t want to waste time here, so he slowed his pace and walked the last few meters to the break in the fence. He could have jumped over the barrier, but knowing the magicians of this country, they likely would have warded off such an entrance. Plus, if these two grunts wanted to pick a fight, Skukaku’s chakra would only be too happy to oblige.

 

The pair had their wands drawn already, and they levelled them at Gaara when they (belatedly) noticed him walking towards them. He didn’t move to stop them or even pay them heed, instead he continued walking until he was between them and their wands.

 

He couldn’t see their faces beneath their masks, but he assumed they were silently debating with themselves whether he was a threat worth attacking/denying access to their area, or perhaps they were trying to work out if they had seen him at the Malfoy party.

 

In any case, they evidently had decided he was not a threat warranting expulsion so they dropped their wands once he had passed and turned back to the outside.

 

Gaara worried after the imminent threat had passed, whether he would now have to spend all night searching every tent for his friend. There were dozens upon dozens, perhaps even a hundred of the lavish tents spread out in the wall-off area, and it wasn’t like the Malfoy family were so vain as to put their initials on the front of their…

 

Oh, wait, there it is!

 

It was hard to imagine a more fitting tent for Lucius and Draco to share, with the dark green fabric and the sparkling, embroidered silver ‘M’ on the tent flap. Sat outside, there were a pair of ornate wooden stools overlooking a modest fire, held in what appeared to be a large copper pan.

 

Lucius had obviously never entered a shop without feeling the compulsion to buy something.

 

With no door on which to knock, Gaara walked straight into the tent and was immensely relieved to find a bored Draco sat with his back to the entrance (a bad habit), hunched over what appeared to be a chess set.

 

Gaara walked up behind him and looked over his shoulder.

 

“Your queen will be taken in three moves.”

 

“Ah!” Draco almost jumped into the free standing chess set, instead merely bumping his knee and landing back in his chair. “Gaara, what are you doing here?!”

 

“Making sure you are unharmed.” Now that he had, he wished he had kept his presence hidden so he could leave without an explanation.

 

“But- I mean, rather… what about the… you know…?” Clearly Draco knew something about the attack happening at that moment, but Gaara had no desire to force the flustered boy to disclose. Really, the exact reasons or circumstances did not matter. As long as Draco himself, and maybe Narcissa, weren’t out there, Gaara only had to keep an eye out not to kill or seriously injure one Death Eater. Although Gaara wouldn’t lose any (more) sleep if Lucius did get a little hurt, he knew it would devastate Draco.

 

“My father… has just stepped out.” Draco had finally conjured up a feeble excuse.

 

“I will try not to hurt him. I am going to help Sirius and Remus. Stay here.” It would have been nice if he did not have to order his friend around like this, but Draco was nowhere near ready for the battlefield (and certainly not ready to face his father on that field).

 

“Wait, no, just leave it. Wait here, they’ll be gone soon.”

 

Gaara looked back at him, gave him a wave, and left. He ran after he exited the tent, in case Draco had any notion of following. He continued running until he was almost upon the exit of the posh area, where the two guards were still posted.

 

They looked back at him, but either because he hadn’t been any trouble before, or because he was a child, they continued to ignore him as he was leaving. He called out his sand and had it club both men on the back of their hooded necks, knocking them out for a good few hours, as he ran past.

 

The sounds were more localised now, whatever sort of property damage was being caused earlier was now restricted to collateral damage in the fight. He could see colourful lights in the distance so he ran straight for them, calling his sand out and around him, ready for any stray spells that might come his way. He hopped over any tents in his way this time, sure of his destination and desperate to arrive there without a second wasted. Remus and Sirius were competent duellers, they had assured (boasted to) him on numerous occasions, but they were also feeble civilians in his eyes. He wasn’t going to leave them for a second longer on the battlefield than he had to.

 

They may have been adults but Gaara was a warrior, and a human weapon.

 

Gaara ignored the part of himself that was telling him to slow down and stay calm, that this frenzy to get there was because of Shukaku’s chakra. His sand was swirling around him as he ran and he would need all of the chakra he could get his hands on if he was going to help with so little coming from his tiny gourd. It was pure luck that Gaara had thought to bring his old pouch with him, reasoning that his kunai might come in handy with the camping, or so that was the excuse he had given Sirius. Really he just felt vulnerable without his full gourd on his back.

 

Sirius would never have understood. ‘What could possibly go wrong at a Quidditch match..?’

 

The answer was colourful, Gaara noted, as he watched his first wizarding battle.

 

The two groups were distinct and stood opposite one another, around a dozen on each side, hurling spells across a no-man’s-land of burned tents and a single downed fighter, not wearing the black robes of a Death Eater. Most of the spells impacted on invisible barriers, all except the bright green ones sent out by the black-robed fighters, which their opponents seemed to dodge

 

From the direction Gaara had approached, he was now perpendicular to both groups, and had the perfect view to both the fight and to the individual groups. They were all so caught up in flicking their wands and sending out the colourful magics at each other that no one had noticed Gaara’s arrival to the side.

 

Gaara did not think twice about reaching into his pouch and flinging a kunai into the crowd of Death Eaters. He had aimed at the shortest one, knowing for sure that it wasn’t Lucius, expecting it to get intercepted or dodged and for the distraction to help Sirius and Remus, amongst the opposing combatants, press their advantage.

 

Instead, the black throwing knife flew at the Death Eaters and sunk into his neck, shocking those immediately around him as he made an aborted gesture to reach for his throat before he collapsed dead, the blood having gushed out in a great spurt.

 

The spell volleys simmered down as both groups looked to see who had attacked, and with a muggle weapon no less, only to find a boy who looked like he couldn’t be more than thirteen-years old standing there.

 

To Lucius this was a problem. He had wanted to add the boy to the Dark Lord’s forces but if he died now it would come to nothing. Plus Draco would never forgive him. But there was no way to protect the foolish child without revealing his identity.

 

Meanwhile, Sirius had yelled at the top of his lungs for Gaara to hide, or to run away, or to come to him. Gaara wasn’t entirely sure what Sirius wanted him to do, although he would later admit it probably wasn’t ignoring those orders and slowly walking towards the Death Eaters.

 

He didn’t have enough sand to effectively neutralise them all at a distance, so he would need to get closer to them.

 

The groups of black-cloaked attackers had been too shocked by the sudden, brutal murder in front of them by a teenager that it took those first few steps for them to recover and start to cast at the redhead too.

 

The bursts of light flew at Gaara but even with his minimal sand his automatic defence swatted the crippling and possibly deadly curses out of the air like stray pigeons. His pace was slow as he approached, and he paused for a second and looked around for something try and convert to sand. It would take forever to tunnel deep enough to find bedrock in this field, so his only hope was to use whatever rocks were lying around. He was in luck as metres away there was a large rock by a fireside, someone having been using it as a seat before all of the panicking started.

 

He had underestimated the damage these curses would do to his sand supply. Each time they attacked, his shield was getting a little smaller. The magic was blasting the sand particles beyond his ability to control them.

 

He sent what little sand he could spare to the boulder, but with his flimsy shield thinner than ever, Gaara had to halt his approach and begin dodging the curses being sent at him.

 

One of the Death Eaters focussing on Gaara had grown impatient and sent one of the nasty green curses at him. Gaara had seen the other wizards’ reaction to that curse and called all of his available sand to block it.

 

The shockwave knocked him off of his feet and the sand, the half that hadn’t been vaporised by the spell, fell to the floor motionless. It took Gaara a moment recognise that the chakra in his sand was gone. It took another moment for him to somersault backwards to avoid the next curse, purple this time, that struck the grass where he had been prone.

 

Lucius had been focussed on fighting back Black and Lupin, letting the satisfaction he would gain from their deaths fuel him, when he saw the green flash of the Killing Curse flare and dissipate, leaving Gaara on the ground. He clenched his teeth, and wondered how he would explain this to Draco. Maybe he could claim the one who killed Gaara had been tortured to death. Draco would never find out any different. He would be sad for a little time until his other friends filled the void. Still it was a shame, the strange boy might have been useful to the…

 

Oh, he was still alive. Jolly good.

 

 

“Don’t kill the boy, just keep him away. It’s almost time for the signal.” Lucius said as evenly as he could.

 

“What’s the signal?” One of them replied, barely blocking a stunner aimed at his face.

 

Lucius didn’t want to admit that he didn’t know what the signal was, that he was out of the loop in not only his job but even within his own people. In fact, he felt as if he had been the last of the old guard to be informed of this raid.

 

It was humiliating.

 

At least the lower ranks still expected him to have all the answers. He still had their respect, and pretty soon he would be back on top.

 

No matter what foolish plan Cornelius had cooked up, and seemed insistent that even Lucius not be told, that man would be out of office within the next three or four years, at best. In the meantime, Lucius would marshal support and collect his allies, ready for the moment to give Fudge the boot.

 

Lucius snapped back to the present moment when his shield charm was blasted apart by combined pair of hexes from two of the do-gooders stopping them all from leaving. He was about the cast the Killing Curse at them, when his attention was drawn back to the single-man front to his right.

 

Gaara had been acrobatically dodging and even retreating a few steps to keep away from the spells that were aimed at him. His sand was almost done with the boulder, so he just needed to buy a few more seconds.

 

It pained him to use it here since he had so few with him, and it would cost him the kunai it was attached to, but Kankuro had always told him not to be stingy with weapons if he was going to use them. So he reached back into his pouch again and threw the kunai at the Death Eaters collected fifteen feet away.

 

The two that were facing him had seen it coming and erected their shield again, but instead of the metal bouncing off of their magical protections, when it hit the timer on the exploding tag ran out and it ignited.

 

The two that had cast the shield had definitely not seen the huge fireball coming, nor the concussive force of a _bombarda maxima_. They had their turn being thrown onto their backs, Gaara noted with satisfaction.

 

Gaara took the distraction as an opportunity to call back all of the sand he had access to from the crush rock. It amounted to less than his full gourds worth, even with the recovered mini-gourd’s remains and the majority of the ground-up boulder.

 

Gaara had identified which of the men was probably Lucius, since he thought he heard a disguised voice command the others not to kill him (which he appreciated, even if it didn’t extend to Sirius and Remus, and if it was foolhardy to go easy on an enemy). It was easier now that he didn’t have to worry about killing the wrong person accidentally.

 

That easement was a godsend since Gaara’s demon-induced headache was raging on worse than ever and he was now having to consciously restrict the flow of Shukaku’s chakra into his own system for fear of losing whatever tenuous grip on control he had.

 

All of this battle was not only exciting the demon but Gaara’s own bloodlust was rearing its ugly head as well.

 

He started on the offensive again, drawing the focus of a third Death Eater, who were all alternating between flinging non-lethal hexes and curses at him and shielding themselves against the sand tendrils that broke again and again on their barriers. It was a stalemate until one of the eight other Death Eaters, facing eleven or twelve campers, was pressured into desperation.

 

One of them, coincidentally the youngest of the raiders, had enough of this and fired off a nasty deep blue curse at Remus Lupin, known werewolf. Whether pure luck or skilled marksmanship, no one would ever know, but the curse managed to strike Lupin on the upper arm and send him spinning to the floor. The other fighters on the light side covered while Sirius checked on his oldest living friend, but Remus was already unconscious and his arm badly burned and discoloured.

 

“Remus! Remus! Hang on!” Sirius yelled, rolling Lupin onto his back and trying in vain to wake him up.

 

Gaara watched, eyes wide, stunned, as spells continued to slam into the protective sand curled around him. His eyes were stuck on the sight of Sirius trying to wake Remus. On Remus lying motionless on the grass.

 

On the smoking, blackened burn on Remus’ upper arm.

 

“Stupid mutt!” The attacker yelled at the top of his voice. He revelled in his victory and fired off a few more quick spells towards Sirius Black, known blood traitor, but none of them made it through the wall of wizards still fighting.

 

The Death Eaters firing at Gaara had noticed their opponent’s catatonia but his sand defence was still blocking them. They weren’t allowed to kill him, so they focussed instead of killing time until the signal came. It couldn’t be long now.

 

Gaara couldn’t take his eyes off of Remus. Was he dead? He couldn’t see his chest move in the dim light of the nearby fires. If he was dead…

 

“Bloody mongrel!” The attacker shouted again, while Sirius, who had set Remus down well behind their line, was returning to the fight.

 

This was supposed to be a peaceful world, where their wars didn’t create weapons like Gaara or child-Shinobi, a world without killing…

 

And now that fool was laughing!

 

Gaara finally snapped out of his trance and turned to the man who had killed Remus. He commanded the sand to crawl along the grass in the gloom, under the barriers and invisible to his enemies. It trickled along the ground and started to latch onto the young Death Eater’s shoes and the bottom of the black robes. More and more snuck under the barrier and the Death Eater with a death wish kept laughing and taunting until his feet wouldn’t move.

 

Glancing down he thought his shoes were caught in the mud, and then he saw the sand in the gloom climbing up his legs quicker and quicker. He yelled in alarm and tried to blast the trail still crawling along the grass, but it immediately reconnected and continued to cover his legs. His yell attracted the attention of his compatriots, but few could afford the distraction of helping.

 

In his panic, he tried to curse Gaara but his spell failed to even hit Gaara’s sand protection, and the three dedicated to keeping Gaara at bay became two as one had to peel off to keep the advancing light fighters at bay.

 

Gaara paid no attention to the Death Eaters attacking him, focussed entirely on finishing the scum that killed his friend. The sand was at the twenty-something’s chest and still climbed higher, lifting him off the ground. Gaara’s hand was outstretched, his unblinking eyes locked on the flailing ones seen through the polished silver mask.

 

“Wait, no don’t! Kill him, quickly!” The trapped and panicking Death Eater could not even wriggle.

 

Without any pithy remarks or damning words, Gaara completely covered his target, clenched his fist and the sand compressed and exploded, throwing bloody sand everywhere.

 

Gaara called back the sand that wasn’t too saturated and prepared to continue his slow advance, but the fighting had largely stopped and many of the combatants were staring directly at him.

 

Surely a death, or second death, on the battlefield wasn’t such a strange thing to behold.

 

Gaara did not realise that those who did not know him were startled by the merciless method of execution enacted by a child, and those that did know him were stunned by the enormous toothy smile stretched across his face as he had murdered a man.

 

The reverie resulting from the brutal consequences of Gaara losing control for a moment lasted for seconds only, but before it could end, the collective attention of the fighters was drawn then to the sky when a green light flared in their peripheral.

 

While the light side, and Gaara, stared up at the illumination in the sky, the Death Eaters used the secondary distraction to make a dash for freedom, making it twenty feet and all grabbing hold of a dark polished oak footstool that whisked them all away.

 

Gaara had chased them after he noticed the movement, but he failed to catch even the stragglers before they could grab the conspicuously placed portkey.

 

He looked around for his next victim but snapped out of his haze when he caught sight of Sirius still staring up at the sky. The sight of a friendly face was enough to rouse his human sensibilities, fortunately.

 

His manic smile now gone, he looked back at the group he had been fighting loosely alongside and they were all still staring up at the green light. Having only glanced at it before, Gaara looked to discern why they were so horrified. It took a while for his muddled mind to recall but eventually he remembered seeing the Dark Mark depicted in a school book, cut up and spread over three pages since replicating the entire thing was considered to be dark in and of itself.

 

The skull and snake symbol was clearly something inherently frightening to wizards but Gaara was now more interested in checking on his friends. He reformed his gourd, the full size now sitting heavily on his back, and he trudged over to where Remus was lying.

 

As he approached, he drew the notice of the adults who all backed away. The jerk reaction didn’t fully register in Gaara’s mind, not until Sirius flinched when he looked up at him. Sirius had already been back at Lupin’s side to raise his head until help could come, but looking up at Gaara had elicited his instinctual fearful response when his eyes settled on Gaara’s.

 

“Your eyes, Gaara…!”

 

Gaara was running on autopilot. He had to fight. He needed to kill. He wanted to check on his friends.

 

Sirius had fallen back from his shock but climbed to his feet and reached out to shake Gaara’s shoulder. He had no idea what was going on with his ward, although he was secretly hoping this was a sign of shock from what he had done. That would be less worrying than Gaara being completely okay. Not after those kills…

 

But more than that, it wasn’t just Gaara’s behaviour, it was his eye.

 

As soon as Sirius’ hand made contact with Gaara’s shoulder, bypassing the automatic defence that would have stopped it if Sirius held any harmful intent, Gaara snapped out of his daze. The physical touch from another human being still held enough shock to break the stupor Gaara had been under.

 

Gaara mouth as hanging open as his brain caught up with everything.

 

“He’s okay, Gaara, Remus is going to be fine. He’s just unconscious.” Sirius said slowly, his hand still resting on Gaara’s small shoulder.

 

Despite having watched Gaara kill two full-grown men in cold blood just minutes before, Sirius thought Gaara had never looked so young as he did in that moment. It would have been all of the reassurance that Sirius needed if Gaara’s eye weren’t…

 

Dozens of pops sounded nearby and shouts rang out. Barking orders, Aurors swarmed into the clearing they had all been fighting in, their wands raised and pointing at everyone standing.

 

One of the fighters that had been helping Sirius and Remus ran over and started to explain the full situation to the Auror captain on the scene. Sirius had a pit in his stomach already, but when the conferrer and the Auror captain kept looking over at Gaara, even pointing him out, Sirius knew this was going to be a very long night.

 

“Gaara, close your left eye now.”

 

Gaara looked up at him, clearly confused.

 

“Your eye’s changed. We can deal with it later, but for now don’t let them see it.” Indeed, when Gaara had approached, Sirius had seen it. No longer was it the blue-ish-green, Gaara’s left eye now had a black sclera and a peculiarly shaped golden iris, with a black cross through it. Certainly not a burst vessel but something more sinister.

 

“You there!” The Aurors were converging on Sirius and Gaara and by the time Sirius had looked back to make sure Gaara was not doing anything threatening, his eye was already closed. “Please surrender your wands.”

 

Sirius handed his over, quickly recalling the last spell he had used. He did not tend to use dark spells but it would have been a disastrous coincidence if he was caught having done so now of all times. The amount of time it took Gaara to find where he had stashed his wand and hand it over to the irritated Auror would have been comical if the situation were not so dire.

 

“ _Priori Incantato_.” The Auror said, casting his wand over Sirius’ and then Gaara’s. Sirius’ wand indicated the last spell he had used was the Blasting Curse, whereas Gaara’s had been the Wand-Lighting Charm.

 

“When did you cast that?” Sirius covertly asked.

 

“Two weeks ago.” Gaara replied.

 

Sirius stifled his smirk.

 

“We have reports that this young man used his magic to murder a pair of rioters this evening. We will need to take him in for questioning.” He stepped forward with a pair of heavy-looking iron manacles. “You will need to relinquish your… bag, young man.” He was stiff and gruff in his manner.

 

Gaara reached behind himself slowly and unclipped his newly-formed gourd, conscious of the number of wands directed at his head within a metre’s range. The sand-filled container fell heavily onto the ground and he submitted himself to be cuffed. If he was going to escape, it would be safer to do it when they thought he was bound and harmless. Such simple locks would be child’s play to pick, even if it wasn’t Gaara’s most polished skill.

 

They locked the manacles on and Gaara shuddered at the heavy hands placed on each of his shoulders without his consent, and he knew without looking back that there were still wands practically stabbing into the nape of his neck. His pouch was also unclipped and taken, which he wasn’t happy about.

 

“Hold on,” Sirius said, “I’m Gaara’s guardian. I’ll be accompanying him to the Ministry and staying with him during any questioning.” There was no way he was ever letting Gaara go into that massive bureaucracy alone.

 

“Very well. But just you.” The Auror captain commanded.

 

“ _And_ my solicitor. I presume I will have to wait until we arrive in the Ministry before he can be contacted.” It was eerie how quickly Sirius could snap into pureblood-mode so quickly, Gaara held. “But we won’t be going anywhere until my friend here is taken to St. Mungo’s. He was hit by curse during the battle but it isn’t spreading.”

 

“Isn’t he a-” One Auror started but Sirius interjected.

 

“It’s not a full moon for another few days, so as long as the healers don’t dilly-dally and he’s all better before then, there should be no problem. Oh, and I refuse to allow my charge to go with you unless he or I are under arrest.”

 

“Understood. I, Ernest Galloway, am placing the Hogwarts student known as ‘Gaara’ under arrest for the murder of two men, for use of underage magic, and for the unlicensed use of a magical artefact. He will be accompanied by his legal guardian, Sirius Black, while under interrogation.” Galloway declared this, perhaps for the benefit of his men, and then commanded them, “Bring the healers here so we can go.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Gaara watched all of this with mild interest. If Sirius was willing to let this play out, Gaara would go along with it as well for the time being. There was also another factor to consider: if he tried fighting again right now, there was a very strong chance that Shukaku would be partially released again, like in the Chunin exams and a few times in Suna before that. He could feel the chakra still racing through his system, begging to be used.

 

Soon a pair of healers approached, checking on the downed fighters, moving on from the crushed Death Eaters husk and the one with a slashed throat in seconds, and stopping by Lupin for a while before levitating him away.

 

“He will be taken to St. Mungo’s. We will have them take a look at your eye as well, when we get to the Ministry holding cell.” Galloway said.

 

“It’s fine.” Gaara rasped out. It would revert eventually, but if they insisted on seeing it, there was no way he could refuse without bringing more suspicion upon himself.

 

“Sirius, what’s going on here?” Arthur finally approached, having been momentarily delayed by the Aurors too.

 

“Gaara’s being taken in for questioning. Could you make sure Harry’s okay, look after him for the night?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Oh, and could you send a patronus to Burke, Doyle, Grimshred and Associates, as well. Tell them where I am and that I need immediate representation.” Sirius said.

 

“We will contact your attorney when we reach the Ministry.” Galloway interjected.

 

“You needn’t bother now. They’ll probably be waiting for us there instead.” Sirius replied easily. This Auror captain didn’t seem like a bad sort, but it was common practice to delay the arrival of representation as long as possible so that interrogators could crack the suspect without interruption or interference.

 

Sirius was going to need his solicitor if Gaara had any hope of getting out of this. He moved forward, under the watchful Aurors’ eyes, and placed his own hand of Gaara’s shoulders so he could lock eyes with him. “Gaara, don’t say a word unless I tell you to. Not one, okay?”

 

Gaara nodded. This shouldn’t be too hard.

 

“It’s going to be okay, Gaara.” Sirius said, and then hugged Gaara. To onlookers it would have looked comforting, but Gaara heard Sirius’ low whisper in his ear, “After we sort this out, you’re going to explain everything, Gaara. No more secrets.”

 

Gaara nodded again, suddenly impressed with his facetious guardian’s ability to deal with serious situations. It was easy to forget that Sirius had fought in the first wizarding war against Voldemort.

 

The Aurors manhandling Gaara pushed him forwards and Sirius was left to trail behind, with a third Auror keeping an eye on him. They walked to another nearby clearing, presumably where the anti-apparition wards had been lifted for the Aurors to arrive through.

 

They all disappeared from the cold field and appeared in one of the grandest buildings Gaara had seen. He was led from the Ministry of Magic apparition point, through the grand Atrium and towards the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. As they walked, Gaara heard another crack, meaning someone was following them. He didn’t dare try to turn and look as the wands pointed at him were as close as they had ever been.

 

Twenty or thirty feet behind them came the Auror captain levitating Gaara’s improvised gourd, a suspected magical artefact.

 

The Ministry was silent compared to when Gaara was last there, the middle of the night limiting personnel to the nightly skeleton-crew that cleaned and maintained order in the building. Gaara suspected it would only be another hour before the halls were heaving again with reporters and workers when news broke of the attack.

 

The DMLA was as unimpressive to look at as any of the other offices in the Ministry, though they walked right on through them and into a series of labyrinthine corridors through the back of the main department. There were many doors lining the walls, presumably holding cells, but they continued to lead Gaara through the halls until they reached the last door.

 

It was sturdy and metallic like all the others, and the locks made a grinding noise as it opened. Inside was an impossibly blank, grey room. Gaara would have questioned whether his open eye was playing tricks on him if he had the time for such idle thoughts. The walls, floor and ceiling were all a perfect and uniformly dull grey colour, and there did not even appear to be any light source, the room was just illuminated evenly throughout.

 

Stepping inside, there were no windows and the inside of the door was the same colour, and was sunk into the wall, so when it closed behind Gaara and Sirius, there was no sign a door had been there in the first place. It would be easy to get lost in the cell, even though it was only a few metres square. There were a couple of stools placed around a table, but they too were the exact same colour and material as the walls.

 

“They are monitoring us so keep quiet.” Sirius said.

 

Gaara had assumed as much.

 

It was only a few minutes after this that the door reopened behind them, though Gaara was sure it had been on the other side of the room when they entered, and two people entered.

 

One was the Auror captain they had met earlier accompanied by a woman Gaara was sure he had seen before but couldn’t place.

 

“Please, have a seat.” Galloway said.

 

Gaara and Sirius sat down and the interrogating pair settled opposite them.

 

“Commencing interview at 01:42 on Friday 19th August. Conducting the interview are Ernest Hogborn Galloway, Captain of Auror squad 75 and arresting agent, joined by Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.” He said, presumably for the benefit of some sort of unseen recording device. “Being interviewed is suspect ‘Gaara’, no surname given, arrested on the charges of murder of two wizards, use of a dangerous magical artefact, use of underage magic, and use of magic in a restricted or muggle-inhabited area. With him is his legal guardian, Sirius Orion Black. Would you please confirm for the record your names are correct?”

 

“Yes, my name is Sirius Orion Black.” Sirius said, unsure whether or not Gaara would add anything.

 

“My name is Gaara. I do not have a second name.”

 

Galloway leaned forward onto the table, his fingers steepled, “That is unusual. I understand that you aren’t from this country, where is that you _are_ from, where they do not use surnames?”

 

Gaara looked to be about to say something so Sirius rudely interrupted, “That sounded like more than a record clarification. I am afraid we won’t be saying anything more until my solicitor has arrived. He shouldn’t be long.”

 

“Yes, we will contact him now. What firm is he with?” Madam Bones said.

 

“I sent word ahead before we came here. But thanks for asking.”

 

Bones gave Galloway a sidelong look, but it was unknowable what it was supposed to communicate. Gaara continued to stare at the blank wall in between the two in front of him. The last thing he wanted right now was to spend time in his head but it was the only thing he could do. He was no way near good enough at acting to bluff or lie, so he had to stay quiet and unresponsive.

 

And enjoy the screaming inside his head.

 

“So, you were there for the match, huh?” Galloway said casually. “Since I was on duty tonight, I couldn’t go. I heard the Irish won but Krum got the Snitch. That must have been a good one.”

 

Sirius smiled but made no effort to reply.

 

“Did you have good seats?”

 

“They were lovely, thank you.” Sirius said with a thin smile.

 

“Who were you sat with?” Galloway still had the same smile on his face, but Sirius’ dropped.

 

“I’m sorry, I can’t answer any more questions until my solicitor arrives.”

 

“Of course, I didn’t mean to worry you. Just making conversation. Unless there’s something about your seating arrangements you’re afraid will incriminate you?”

 

Sirius didn’t bother answering this time.

 

“If you could just clarify why you and your ward were participating in the riot, we can clear all this up a lot quicker. Then when your representation gets here, we can finish up with the difficult questions.”

 

Sirius sighed, “I won’t be saying anything more until my solicitor is here.”

 

“If you would just give-”

 

“We will wait until your solicitor is here, Mr Black. Ernie, give it a break. We won’t get anywhere like this.” Madam Bones said, sitting straighter in her stool and trying her best to get a read on both Gaara and Sirius. As she did so, her attention was drawn to Gaara’s closed eye. She had read his file previously and it made no mention of an ocular disability. “I will send for a Ministry healer right away, to have a look at Gaara’s eye.”

 

“That’s not necessary.” Sirius started.

 

“Of course it is. Ernie, please would you go and find the on-duty healer, have them come here. Thank you.” Amelia didn’t look at her subordinate as she ordered him around; her eyes were still locked on Gaara, who had not reacted to his own name. It was about as spooky as his entire demeanour tended to be.

 

Sirius looked at Gaara as well, appearing to be just a concerned foster-parent, but really unsure of how to proceed without raising suspicions. They might start to pose questions about his fitness to be a parent if he didn’t let a healer look at Gaara’s eye. But better that than them seeing whatever was going on with the eye itself.

 

“My apologies for Auror Galloway. He was just trying to get this disaster straightened out.” Amelia said after the Auror had left.

 

Sirius again failed to reply. Not from any reluctance but because he was busy staring at Gaara, whose open eye was now twitching and did not seem to be blinking.

 

That was worrying…

 

With some time to think, especially following the events of this evening, Sirius had begun to question whether he had been a good guardian to Gaara. Staring at the clearly disturbed murderer, he wondered if he had been giving him too much latitude.

 

Sure, Gaara seemed more mature than Sirius or even Remus, but he was still a child. Perhaps he needed Sirius to take the reins, even if he would never (ever) admit it. He would have to look into getting Gaara some counselling, if only to discuss what Gaara had done to those two Death Eaters.

 

Although, he would hold off on that until he had forced some answers out of the shirty teenager. He had a horrible suspicion that those had not been the first humans Gaara had killed, and then there was his eye… If Gaara couldn’t talk to a professional, for legal or personal reasons, Sirius would just have to do it himself.

 

Paragon of mental health that he was…

 

So, he would grill look into some sort of ongoing talk-therapy, finish his animagus training, and then try and create a stable atmosphere to continue raising the precocious boy. That seemed simple enough.

 

Sirius had been staring longer than Gaara would normally have allowed but the smallest person in the interrogation cell was so out of it he didn’t look like he had noticed. With the lapsed conversation, Amelia was also examining the boy. She had seen him a couple times and his (surprisingly thin) file as many times again, being something of a curiosity to a number of the higher Ministry staff, having witnessed his dramatic entrance to deliver Pettigrew at the beginning of the summer and the stories of his involvement in the Attack on Hogwarts (or single-handed defeat of the dementors, depending on who you asked). Now he had apparently killed a couple of rioters at the World Cup; although, from the spotty details about that ‘riot’, she was already starting to question how simple the situation really was.

 

Unfortunately, Amelia would probably not get any way towards the truth with either of these two if they did manage to refrain from commenting before their solicitor arrived. She had heard Black hired the biggest, fanciest, most conniving magical law firm his family’s money could buy, to arrive at the curious custody agreement he was awarded and to keep from ever getting sent back to Azkaban (guilty or innocent).

 

As soon as his private shark arrived, Amelia would be lucky to confirm whether or not they had even attended the World Cup.

 

The door opened and for a moment she thought said shark had appeared like the proverbial devil, but instead someone wearing Ministry healer robes entered before Galloway. Healers were rare and the Ministry only employed a few, but the DMLE had insisted on having a couple of their own on constant standby for wounded Aurors and suspects. The real issue had been getting healers, who were typically soft touches, that would be able to keep quiet and treat prisoners with the due objectivity.

 

They couldn’t have them coddling murderers just because they’d been roughed up a little.

 

Still, this Gaara was a child and Amelia had been concerned whatever healer was brought in would undermine the intimidation she was attempting to instil.

 

Fortunately, Healer Jeffries was nothing if not professional and looked at Gaara with all of the sympathy elicited by a broken teacup that needed fixing. He dragged Galloway’s unoccupied stool around and sat right in front of Gaara, who did not seem to have noticed any of this happening. Amelia was now joining Sirius in his worry for Gaara’s mind, since the boy as acting catatonic.

 

Sirius nudged him, “Gaara.”

 

Gaara blinked a looked like he had been daydreaming, suddenly startled out of his thoughts. He glanced at Sirius first and the Amelia, and then he seemed to register there was a new adult sat looking straight back at him. He looked back to Sirius, hoping for some explanation as to what had transpired while he was zoned out.

 

“They want to look at your eye, Gaara. Is that okay?” Sirius said, pretending to reason with his ward. Really, he needed to know if it was safe show them.

 

Gaara seemed to think for a moment and then nodded. His hands slowly raised, still bound together, and he rubbed his eye.

 

“You mustn’t rub it!” The man sitting in front of him insisted, so Gaara lowered his hands and waited.

 

The healer leaned forward and placed his meticulously cleaned fingers around Gaara’s eye and manually opened it. It was reddened, but otherwise unremarkable compared to the other eye. “What happened to it?” The healer asked as he pulled down the bottom lid and then pulled his hand back to check for signs of eyeliner.

 

Gaara looked to Sirius, wondering if he should say anything yet. Sirius hesitated and nodded slowly.

 

“I got dirt in it. It hurt to open it but it doesn’t anymore.” Gaara said, knowing full well that the soreness of his eye was due to his rubbing and not any grit.

 

“And what about the blackness around your eyes? It doesn’t appear to be makeup,” the healer asked.

 

“I’m an insomniac.” Gaara flatly answered.

 

“Well, I don’t see anything here that needs my help. I could prescribe a dreamless sleep potion, if it would help.”

 

“That won’t be necessary. Thank you, Healer Jeffries.” Amelia interjected before Gaara could politely refuse. Truth be told, Amelia couldn’t let her suspect get a good night’s rest before she even had her chance to properly question him.

 

The healer left the room without a second glance and they went back to silence, except for the sound of Galloway dragging his stool back around to beside Bones’.

 

It couldn’t have been more than five minutes later that there came a knock on the door. Behind it stood a goblin, like those working in the wizard bank, Gaara saw.

 

“Grimshred, of Burke, Doyle, Grimshred and Associates.” The goblin growled as a greeting.

 

“Took you long enough. I was about to confess to being Gellert Grindlewald in disguise.” Sirius snapped out.

 

“Mr Black, make no more jokes if you do not wish to spend unnecessary time here while I have to explain them away.” The goblin said.

 

“I managed to restrain myself until you were here to defend me from the confusions.” Sirius whined.

 

“My client and I will need to confer. Get out.” Gaara was as impressed by the goblin temperament as he had been in Diagon Alley. For bankers, their dispositions uncannily mirrored those of warriors.

 

Once they were alone in the interrogation chamber, the goblin sat across from them and started to unpack his briefcase, pulling out a quill, ink and papers. He seemed to be in no rush at all, methodically uncapping his inkwell and dipping his quill and starting his paperwork.

 

“You haven’t told them anything yet?”

 

“Nothing, just that Gaara had gotten some dirt in his eye and confirmed our names.”

 

“Acceptable. What questions did they ask?”

 

“What happened, where Gaara comes from, that sort of thing.” Sirius continued.

 

Gaara expected the goblin to ask the questions as well, to better defend them, but the small deformed creature asked no such things. It seemed entirely disinterested in the truth.

 

“How were you arrested? What were the charges?”

 

“It was all above board, but it is just Gaara under arrest. I’m here as his guardian. I thought Arthur would have told you that much. The charges were murder, underage magic in a restricted area, and…” He trailed off.

 

“Illegal use of a magical artefact.” Gaara finished.

 

“What was the artefact?”

 

Sirius looked to Gaara to answer again, unsure of how to explain it properly.

 

“A gourd filled with sand. It has no independent magical properties, although it may register as magical. It’s not an artefact.” Gaara elaborated.

 

“Good.” Grimshred noted down the point. “What did the Reverse Spell reveal from your wands?”

 

“I used a Blasting Curse and Gaara used a Wand-Lighting Charm.” Sirius said.

 

Grimshred nodded and continued making notes. “Witnesses?”

 

“A few, and they saw him kill two people. He didn’t use his wand. He can wandlessly control the sand in his gourd.”

 

Grimshred stopped taking notes for a second, looking directly at Gaara, “The child is how old?”

 

“Fourteen as of January.”

 

“Were the killings self-defence?”

 

“Yes.” Sirius said it simply but in truth he wasn’t so sure. The first attack, more like an assassination, had come unexpectedly when Gaara was safer to hide, and the second had not been defence at all. That had been murder.

 

“The witnesses will corroborate this?”

 

“Umm… They might or they might not.”

 

Grimshred’s quill scratched across his parchment as he crossed something out. “Any previous convictions or arrests?”

 

“None, although they did question him over his involvement with the capture of a… of Peter Pettigrew. He was never charged with anything.”

 

“Any familial convictions?” Grimshred asked.

 

A sad reality of wizarding law was that the courts would openly assume guilt if a defendant had a long history of criminal relatives (Sirius assumed that played a part in his short, formality of a trial thirteen years ago.) “None, although as his guardian I would be counted on that score, right?”

 

“Correct. However, your conviction was overturned and record expunged.”

 

“Ah, so will that take care of the cautions I received when I was younger.”

 

“Yes, part of the settlement reached with the Ministry of Magic stipulated a total clearance of your record up to that point.”

 

“Ah, brilliant.” Sirius thought back to all of the warnings he had received when he was a teenager thanks to his father’s influence. Were it not for the Black name, Sirius probably would have spent at least a couple months in Azkaban long before the betrayal.

 

“I will plead your ward down to two counts of manslaughter, maximum sentence of two years each.” Grimshred said without looking up for his continued note taking.

 

Sirius’ fond, reminiscent smile dropped and his eyes went wide at hearing the proposed bargain. He looked at Gaara but he didn’t appear to be too worried. Knowing Gaara, he would escape within a week. But that confidence did not offer the same comfort to Sirius, it only emphasised Gaara’s childish naïveté.

 

“That’s not good enough. He can’t got to Azkaban, I won’t let he spend a single night there!”

 

“He will be sent there before his trial if formal charges are brought, regardless.” The goblin didn’t appear to appreciate the tone Sirius was taking with him.

 

“What about bail?”

 

“They can and will deny it without reason. Lack of a surname is ample enough to assume an escape risk.”

 

Gaara had really wanted to avoid being on the run since it would make his goals infinitely more difficult to accomplish, but Sirius had told him only a few minor details of life in prison here and Remus had explained the rest. He would not waste away for four years, even if the dementors didn’t affect him the same way as everyone else.

 

Plus, with his chakra, the dementors would swarm him as soon as he reached the black isle.

 

He would wait until they tried transporting him later. There was a good chance this cell had some sort of warding to prevent escape and he didn’t want to have to wage war on every witch and wizard in the Ministry on his way out because he spent however long it would take to force his way through the barrier (if he even could…)

 

“So what can we do?” Sirius asked.

 

“If the interrogation goes on for…” Grimshred pulled out a shining gold watch and clicked open the pocket-watch case, “at least six more hours, they will not be able to process his papers and prepare him for transportation in time. He will spend the night in the cells here. I may be able to delay his transport another few days but it will likely be at least five months before a trial can be arranged but I should be able to have that admitted as time served should a prison term be issued.”

 

Sirius couldn’t believe it. Coming here, he had thought he was in for a couple days aggravation from the Ministry and maybe a slap on the wrist, not sending Gaara to Azkaban Prison for years!

 

“I will have the Aurors come back in. If we keep them any longer they will believe we are trying to delay.”

 

Once Bones and Galloway had sat back down and Grimshred had taken Sirius’ seat, the questioning resumed, formally this time.

 

They asked Gaara to recall the events that led to the murders that night but the Black family solicitor quickly interjected that it had not been established that the deaths, allegedly caused by his client, had in fact been murders. The interrogation went on for hours, with Gaara telling most of the story, being asked questions, and scarce more than five words being uttered by anyone without the goblin interrupting to stop Gaara incriminating himself or to object to the phrasing of the interrogators’ questions.

 

Grimshred would stop Gaara every time he was about to retell his entry into the battle (and the resultant death) as well as the circumstances around the second death attributed to him. And the goblin would add words like ‘attacker’, ‘combatants’, ‘self-defence’, and ‘proportionate response’.

 

If Gaara didn’t already have the mother of all headaches, this experience certainly would have given him one. As it was, every time the ‘bad cop’, Galloway, raised his voice and asked him a stupid question, Gaara found it harder and harder to convince himself that killing the man would be bad.

 

Sirius sat back, looking terrified but keeping quiet. The only noises he would make were guttural ones when Galloway would accuse Gaara of being a ‘monster’, and gaping yawns. At around five in the morning, the interrogators stepped out to get coffee, the designated ‘good cop’, Bones, having offered to get some for the opposing adults too.

 

Gaara hadn’t been asked but he didn’t like coffee anyway.

 

Grimshred had started taking notes again and checking his watch. Sirius suspected he was calculating how many galleons he had already amounted.

 

Gaara was also calculating, though for him it was the amount of sand his armour would provide when the time came for his escape. Perhaps he could “borrow” some money from Draco and try fleeing abroad. He’d be able to find some useful libraries there, he thought. Plus Sirius, Remus and Draco couldn’t be accused of aiding him since he would be so far away and no one would miss a little money from the Malfoy accounts.

 

Less than the three Malfoys spent on shoes in a quarter, Gaara would wager.

 

He was going to have to knock Sirius out as well, when he escaped, so that they weren’t assumed to be colluding. It might be the last he saw of Sirius for a long while.

 

Still, this was the consequence for doing what Gaara did best. Everyone would be safer with Gaara in some distant land.

 

The door slid back open but instead of Bones and Galloway, there stood the insect-like Henrick Morbidus, his face tight and dull as always. He stepped in and slowly took his seat, eyeing Gaara the whole time.

 

“Good morning, my name is Henrick Morbidus. I work here as an inspector of sorts and I thought it was about time we met properly.”

 

Gaara, who had not made eye contact with anyone, other than the healer who had insisted, found himself staring right back at the disquieting man. He was about to reply when, once again, the goblin beat him to it.

 

“And what capacity are you here in, Mr Morbidus.” Grimshred demanded. He was about as well-informed as any goblin was likely to be about the major players in the Ministry of Magic and he was well aware of Morbidus’ reputation. This was either a good sign, that Gaara was of interest to the Minister and might constitute a special case, or else he meant there was a determination that Gaara _would_ being going to Azkaban and nothing any solicitor did would change that.

 

“As a guest in our country and in light of the notable role he played in the disturbance at Hogwarts at the end of the last school year, it was part of my duty to do a little research into Gaara here. But while he is in the Ministry, I thought it would be worthwhile to come down and have a little chat. Would that be acceptable?”

 

“Very well, but I will intercede if the conversation strays into any potentially incriminating topics.” Grimshred ground out.

 

“That seems fair enough.” Morbidus conceded. “Now, how are you feeling Gaara?”

 

“He is physically well following a brief eye examination by a Ministry healer.” Grimshred answered.

 

“Very good,” Morbidus responded, still looking right at Gaara.

 

“Before whatever occurred to bring you’re here, did you have a pleasant evening?”

 

“Without admitting any real criminal cause for his arrest, my client was at the Quidditch World Cup finals and did attend the match as a leisure activity.”

 

Gaara was bothered by both the goblin’s answering all of the questions directed at him as if he weren’t there, and for lying. Gaara had not watched the match as a ‘leisure’ activity, it was wholly obligation.

 

“I hear it was a rather good one, though I do not partake in sports myself.”

 

Morbidus continued to throw out seemingly random questions and each one was answered (or deflected) by Grimshred who seemed wary of Gaara saying anything at all to the gaunt man. After twenty minutes of observing Gaara, Morbidus checked his watch and made his excuses, backing out of the room in either feigned deference or because he didn’t want to show his back.

 

“Interesting.” Gaara said to no one in particular after the door had closed.

 

A couple minutes after that, Galloway re-entered alone with a couple cups of very cold coffee, pretending he hadn’t been waiting outside the door for his superior to leave.

 

He recommenced the interrogation but now Amelia was not there to hold him back, he tried every trick to get Gaara to snap and speak out. He played on Gaara’s nonexistent vanity, his guilt, fear and self-hatred, and his pragmatism. While Gaara was more engaged than he had been earlier, it would have taken a lot more emotional manipulation to reach past his current planning-mode or beyond that to his horror.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

“How is it going down there?”

 

“All proceeding as expected, Minister. The Black family solicitor will not let the interrogation amount to much of anything.”

 

“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. We’ve got him now and all of the lawyers in Britain won’t stop me sending him somewhere secure and under our surveillance. More importantly, what are the reporters saying?”

 

“We have received the advance copies of the morning editions and it’s not looking good. A number feature pictures of the Dark Mark cast over the campsite, one or two of the cheaper magazines have inflated the figures to dozens of dead.”

 

“How many are there actually?”

 

“Seven, including the two that Gaara killed.”

 

“Injured?”

 

“Fifteen serious injuries, including the werewolf acquaintance of Sirius Black, and a further twenty-nine minor injuries. Those numbers have all been inflated by all but one paper.”

 

“How are they painting us?” Fudge dreaded this answer.

 

“As you would expect, sir. A lack of response, delays, bureaucracy, inefficiency, lack of leadership, lack of standing security, poor planning, and a number of ill-mannered personal attacks on yourself and other pertinent heads of department.”

 

“Wonderful. At least I managed to keep the VIPs out of it all. Last thing we need is an international incident on top of all of this. What about the attackers, any word yet?”

 

“There were no immediate identifications at the time of the attack, as you would expect.” Morbidus cleared his throat, “Due to the… physical nature of Gaara’s second victim’s death, identification has been delayed until further methods of verification can be employed. The first has, however, been named as Alistair Talridge, aged thirty-two.”

 

“Talridge, as in the son of Samuel Talridge?”

 

“Yes, Minister, the very same.”

 

“So there’s a chance this wasn’t just a riot that got out of hand?”

 

“A very real possibility, I would say, Minister. With the son of a convicted and Kissed Death Eater, the Dark Mark and the methods of those involved, it is perhaps even likely that this was the work of remnants of the Dark Lord’s followers.”

 

“Blast! Why now, after all these years?!” Fudge looked as angry as he ever had. “I’m hanging on by a thread, pulling out ideas from a hundred years ago just to keep the public distracted, and now those old bigots come out of the woodwork to, what, make a statement? Lodge a protest? Make my life miserable?”

 

“Sir,” Morbidus started soothingly, “you might consider that one of those who fought against these suspected Death Eaters was one of our Aurors. Off duty, mind you. And that also there was another Ministry employee present, Arthur Weasley. Furthermore, Sirius Black, who you set free after over a decade of injustice thanks to previous administrations’ ineptitude also helped fight off the troublemakers. If explained the right way to the journalists, we might be able to come out of this ahead.”

 

“Do you think anybody will believe that Black was working on our side?”

 

“That is the tricky part, I admit, sir, but all we need to do is paint the picture of good versus evil. Our Auror informally deputised those he was fighting with and together they fought against a common enemy. After all, the Ministry are the “good guys”, don’t you agree? It’s only natural that anybody fighting against evil forces like those who would attack a world sporting event would be on our side.”

 

“I suppose you’re right, Henrick. It’s only natural…” Cornelius said, calming. “But how can we avoid a panic. Admitting that even remnants of You-Know-Who’s forces are still running around will cause chaos. I won’t preside over the return to the troubles of the war.”

 

“We can take a leaf from the muggle government’s book in this instance, Minister. We take the same stance against these trouble makers as the muggles took against the Irish. Call them an isolated terrorist cell of the Dark Lords remaining low-level supporters and collaborators, intent on causing only fear and pandemonium, furthering no one’s cause.”

 

“Brilliant, Henrick! We’ll tell everyone they’re a public enemy that we’ve been tracking for weeks. While the attack was unexpected, it could have been much worse if not for our dedicated responders and the help of our good public.”

 

“Very good, sir. However, there is one catch you may not like: by communicating events in this manner, it will be difficult to maintain our hold on Gaara. In the light we wish to paint the picture of events, Gaara would appear to be a hero of sorts, if perhaps a tad overzealous. If we convince the public of our view of the situation, Gaara would need to be released with the lightest of penalties. Otherwise we run the risk of undermining our own strategy and throwing doubt onto the polarity of the situation. And Black will use the notoriety he is currently enjoying to cause all sorts of trouble.”

 

“You’re not saying we have to release him, are you? Regardless of whatever investigations your department wants to run on the boy under our custody and my desire to keep him out of our hair, he still killed two men last night. Bad enough that the bloody Mark in the sky means we have to tell everyone Death Eaters are still running around, but now I have to let a murderer loose?”

 

“If it helps, he did reduce the number running by two.”

 

Cornelius would have mistaken that for a quip had Morbidus shown even the slightest twitch of a cheek. He walked over to the concealed drinks cabinet, “What will you have?”

 

“Nothing for me, sir, thank you. There’s a long day ahead and I will need all of my faculties intact. I never had much of a head for spirits.”

 

“Fine.” He poured himself a small brandy. “I’ll call an early morning press briefing. Let’s say seven.”

 

“I would suggest eight-thirty or nine, sir. The morning papers will have all been finalised by now but some of the magazines might manage to get your statement out in time for a late morning printing. We want to separate the news cycles, with the papers at breakfast tables across the country inflaming public concern as they will, and then your statement of the full facts cooling them back down by noon.”

 

“Yes, you’re right, of course.” Fudge said, sipping his stiff drink, “I won’t mention Gaara at all. We’ve managed to keep him out of the public eye so far. It will be easier collecting him later if people aren’t looking too closely at him.”

 

“As you say, Minister, there will come another opportunity. And some of the less reputable journals have tried looking into Gaara but we have kept quiet and no one is willing to believe the extent of his involvement either way. The boy’s story discredits itself, fortunately.”

 

“That won’t stop Skeeter from looking under every rock.”

 

“Yes, she is rather persistent for a mainline reporter. If my men hear any whisperings of her renewed interest in him, I will look into a suitable distraction until the plan comes to fruition next month. That should suffice. What has Headmaster Dumbledore said to the plans?”

 

“I haven’t told him yet. He’s due to be informed this week. He’s going to have all sorts of stipulations and I wanted as much in place as possible to head off his objections.”

 

“Very wise, sir. Harder for him to undermine your authority if everything is already set in motion.”

 

“I had better start drafting my statement.” He said, sighing, “Three hours sleep. Could you tell my secretary to send in whatever coffee and writers are available.”

 

“Of course, Minister. By your leave,” He said, waiting until he had turned around to let his scowl sink in. The night staffer manning Cornelius’ secretarial desk looking appropriately terrified when he relayed the orders. Good.

 

It was going to be a long day, but it meant that his own plans were proceeding even quicker than previously estimated.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

It was eight in the morning when another knock at the door came. Sirius was struggling to stay awake, suspecting the cold coffee he had drunk out of desperation had been decaffeinated, while Gaara was actually looking more lucid, if a bit tense, especially when the interrogation that had been winding down was interrupted by the knocking. The goblin didn’t look phased at all by the duration or tedium of the questioning.

 

Galloway looked to be the most stressed of all, having switched back and forth between ‘good’ and ‘bad’ cops since his partner/boss had not returned. In came Rufus Scrimgeour, his magnificent mane of hair billowing as he strode into the room.

 

“You’re free to go.” He said, laying a roll of parchment on the table.

 

“What? But sir-” Galloway was indignant.

 

“Orders from Bones. The attackers last night were found to be terrorists and young master Gaara’s actions deemed self-defence, so no formal charges will be filed at this moment. His underage magic will also be overlooked since the situation was dire.”

 

“Found by whom, sir? I thought the department were still collecting evidence.” Galloway asked.

 

“Not now, Auror Galloway. These orders come from Madam Bones herself. You can discuss it with her later. For now, I apologise for the inconvenience, Mr Black, master Black.” Scrimgeour said.

 

Sirius had been more shocked than the time James had decided it would be a good idea to try transforming back and playing fetch with Moony in seventh year. All of the horrible things that had been circling around his head for the past six or seven hours had just been blown away by Scrimgeour’s dramatic entrance.

 

His second reaction was delayed by the shocked first, but eventually he said, “He’s not… Gaara doesn’t use my surname.” For some reason that sounded incredibly strange to him.

 

Gaara was wide-eyed. He had just started to decompress the sand around his hands to break off the magical restraints around his wrists, planning to punch the side of Sirius’ head and then leap over the table to disable Galloway and whoever had just arrived and make his escape. He had to force himself to retract the sand that had already started to mark the manacles when the good news was shared.

 

So… that was it…?

 

That was anticlimactic, Gaara thought.

 

Galloway stormed out, determined to find out why a boy was being set free when he almost definitely had murdered two men. This stunk of the higher ups, and mentions of findings meant only one thing: the Office of Administrative Inspectors.

 

Scrimgeour stepped forward, “It’s nothing personal. My colleague is overzealous at times. I would like to be the first to commend you on your service last night.” He said with what might have passed for a smile if one squinted.

 

“T-thank you, Auror Scrimgeour.” Sirius said, still struggling to believe it. He knew the Auror to be a good man from his numerous brushes with the law as a teenager, when Rufus was just a captain.

 

The Head Auror presented a key, “Your wrists, Gaara.” He unlocked the cuffs, noticing all of the tarnishes and dents. They were old and would need to be replaced.

 

Gaara stood and looked back at Sirius, waiting for him to follow him out. As if Gaara had been patiently waiting this whole time for his inevitable release.

 

Sirius was in a similar daze as Gaara’s earlier in the evening. He had been so sure he would lose Gaara to Azkaban, the place of his nightmares.

 

“Mr Black, my office will forward you the invoice for this morning.” Grimshred said as he packed up his items more quickly than they had been taken out.

 

“Yes, of course, thank you.”

 

The goblin did not pay any attention to the gratitude and walked right out, passing Gaara with as wide a birth as he could.

 

“Mr Black, if you would follow me please.” Scrimgeour said, checking his watch impatiently.

 

“Right.” Sirius jumped to his feet and marched on out, like he was afraid they might take his shock or hesitance as an insult and rescind this pardon.

 

When they emerged into the main Auror pit, it was heaving with frantic Aurors doing paperwork, dragging around arrested men and women, or loudly conversing with one another. A couple hushed their speech when the spotted Sirius and Gaara, but otherwise their entrance garnered little attention.

 

The Head Auror wandered over to a nearby desk and snatched a parchment off of it. “Sheridan!” He called.

 

“Sir!” A nondescript Auror approached.

 

“Bring me Sirius Black’s and Gaara’s wands.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Scrimgeour brought the parchment over to Sirius and Gaara and talked it over with them. A standard release form, he said. Sirius read it over, wishing his solicitor had stuck around to make sure he wasn’t confessing to littering or something. It all seemed okay, although he held off until his wand was back in his hand.

 

“It says ‘I acknowledge that all property has been returned in the state it was confiscated in’ but you still have Gaara’s gourd.” Sirius said.

 

“And my pouch.” Gaara added, hoping no one was stupid enough to touch his few remaining exploding tags.

 

“I am afraid evidence can take up to eleven working days to be returned once it has been logged into evidence. Typically personal items aren’t logged so fast and suspects aren’t released so quickly. Hold on,” He took the parchment back and started writing on it. He added a note that said the gourd and pouch were still to be released from evidence within the allotted time and asked Sirius to initial the change.

 

Once Sirius had checked his wand out for any scratches (it was brand new!), he checked Gaara’s over. “What happened to it!?” He yelled, seeing all of the chunks missing and the rough carving.

 

“I can assure you that it the state the wand was delivered to us in.” Auror Sheridan rebuffed.

 

“It’s fine.” Gaara said, pocketing the thing. He much more concerned about his gourd and weapons pouch. The gourd had been improvised and its chakra would not last long, but he still didn’t like them having it, and much less his weapons.

 

“Sheridan will show you out. Oh, and Mr Black, the Minister for Magic has asked me personally to offer his apologies for the confusion. And to remind you of your prior arrangement. I am afraid he did not elaborate what that meant, to me.”

 

“That’s fine, he and I understand each other perfectly.” Be discreet or else. Loud and clear.

 

Sirius and Gaara walked behind Sheridan without saying or looking at each other. Sirius noticed they were taking a longer route that would avoid the atrium, and the throng of reporters likely milling about the place. When they reached the private floo point, Sheridan waited for them to leave, presumably to then re-disconnect the secure fireplace.

 

Sirius took Gaara by the shoulder and walked into the flames with him, throwing the floo powder in. “The Burrow!”

 

Gaara knew full well how to use the floo network safely by now, but his longstanding aversion to magical travel might lead him to run off and Sirius did not want to lose sight of him just yet. Not after that scare.

 

Plus, with his steadying hand, he could stop Gaara flying face-first into the kitchen table at the other end.

 

“Sirius! Gaara!” Molly was in the kitchen, as Sirius had expected, looking both surprised and relieved to see them both. “Arthur said you’d been arrested. Come here you poor things.” She swept both of them uncomfortable males into a crushing hug. “I’m just making breakfast. I’ll make you a plate, just sit right down there.”

 

Gaara took a seat at the dining room table even though he wasn’t hungry and it felt intrusive to do so as a guest while the host was still busy cooking. But he still sat down because Mrs Weasley was less likely to initiate further physical contact if he did what she said, surely.

 

“By Merlin, you’re back already. I can’t believe you managed to make them see sense so soon. I was sure you wouldn’t be released until at least tonight!” Arthur Weasley was all smiles as he descended the stairs into the kitchen-dining room.

 

“Yes, well, it was a good bit of luck, to be sure. How is Harry? And Remus?”

 

“Harry was worried but he’s asleep in Ron’s room right now. We almost had to send up some Dreamless Sleep for him, but he settled down a few hours ago. And I managed to get Remus into St Mungo’s. They didn’t want to take him at first,” Arthur said.

 

“Ridiculous, the lot of them!” Molly piped up as she set some bacon into her cast-iron skillet.

 

“But they let him in eventually. Even got his own room.”

 

“I’m sure they were only too happy to isolate him. As long as he’s getting help.” Sirius said.

 

“It was a nasty curse, whatever he was hit with, but they said he should be alright in a couple days. Should be little or no lasting nerve damage. But what happened with you, at the Ministry?”

 

“Let’s talk about that in the other room. I have a couple ideas about what might have happened.” Sirius got up from the table and led Arthur into the sitting room.

 

“Gaara dear, could you keep an eye on this, please. Just flip the bacon and make sure the eggs don’t burn.” She smiled at him and then bustled into the other room, shutting the door.

 

Gaara looked back and forth between the stove and the lounge door before getting up and tending the breakfast. It was entirely foreign to him, this level of homeliness. He had never even been to this house before, and he had only met the Weasleys a few times, and yet he was being treated like a close friend or a member of the family.

 

It was uncomfortable.

 

Gaara wasn’t much of a cook, but methodically he flipped the bacon piece by piece. It was only as he looked towards the pan of eggs that he noticed the spatula, blowing on his hot fingers.

 

He was uncharacteristically weary after such a light battle. Maybe it was the stress or the waning headache? In any case, staring at the greasy full English breakfast as it finished cooking was calming. Yashamaru had said cooking was soothing but Gaara never understood why.

 

He might have liked to share this revelation with Draco, maybe the birth of a new hobby, but he knew it would only lead to a rant on how the impoverished Weasleys had to make their guests cook and how such a hobby was for plebeians.

 

“Can I have an extra sausage? I’m really hungry this morning.” Ron said as he walked into the kitchen, yawning and scratching his head.

 

“I don’t think there will be enough if you have extra. There might be some bacon to spare.” Definitely-not-mum answered.

 

Ron rubbed his eyes, sure that his was a bad dream. He’d had similar nightmares before, so coming downstairs to find his mother replaced by Gaara of all people was par for the course. He half expected Draco Malfoy to come in and rant about rubber ducks and Snape to come downstairs complaining that all the hot water was gone.

 

When pinching himself and rubbing his eyes did not wake him up or change Gaara into his mother, he looked around to work out what was happening.

 

Gaara watched this process dispassionately, absently probing the bacon to stop it sticking. “Your mother and father are in the lounge with Sirius.”

 

Finally his equilibrium was restored and Ron was still left with an irritable Slytherin minding his breakfast. He would have slunk back upstairs to avoid the situation were he not convinced Gaara was going to slip something into his food when he wasn’t looking.

 

He was tired since they had evacuated the camp in the middle of the night, and now he was grumpy because there was a bastard in his kitchen first thing in the morning. He poured himself some orange juice and fell into one of the old wooden chairs, and watched Gaara like a drowsy hawk.

 

Gaara ignored him as best he could, serving up the eggs when they looked done. There were a lot of plates already warming in the oven and he figured Mrs Weasley wouldn’t take any offense to his finishing up. He was less sure about the bacon and sausages. Pork was bad for you if it was not freshly killed or fully cooked. The Weasleys had no pigs so it needed to be cooked properly, but he didn’t know how to check that.

 

A glance at Ron suggested even if he did know he wouldn’t share that knowledge easily. Gaara would give it a few minutes and then interrupt Sirius. In the meantime, he dished out the beans and the fried tomatoes. He had just started buttering toast when he heard a door open.

 

“Morning mum,” Ron said, “Dad, Mr Black.”

 

“Oh, Ron, Gaara’s just... Oh, my, sorry dear. I lost track of the time. Well, you’ve certainly done a good job here. I’ll just get everything served up and you can sit down and join us.” She took the spatula from him.

 

“I’ll be back in a little while, Gaara. I’ve got to get Harry back soon or else they’ll come looking for him. Best not to, after last night.”

 

“Come now, surely he can stay for some breakfast. I can’t send him back to _that place_ on an empty stomach.” Molly insisted, patting Gaara on the back and complimenting his buttering skills.

 

“Well, I really shouldn’t. He’s only meant to stay with me…”

 

“They’ll know that he wasn’t with you last night anyway. Surely they can make an exception just this once.” Arthur agreed with his wife.

 

Looking at Molly’s face, Sirius sat down next to Ron and wondered how the woman, not that much older than him, was still able to make him feel like a child. She ‘hmphed’ and set a glass of juice in front of the grown man.

 

“Ron, go wake our brothers and Ginny, and Harry and Hermione too. It’s time for breakfast. Tell Fred and George if they’re not down in five minutes, I’ll let you have their sausages.” Ron’s grunting ascent perked up at that last threat and he practically skipped up the stairs to pass it on.

 

“Thank you for that, dear. You go sit down and I’ll finish serving everything up. You must be famished after last night. I can’t imagine you got a wink of sleep from what Sirius told me.”

 

Gaara sat next to Sirius and sipped his freshly squeezed juice. He would have much rather had a cup of that awful British tea but he did not have the energy to try and refuse Mrs Weasley’s well-intentioned but heavy-handed nutritional breakfast recommendation.

 

A great stampede sounded down the stairs as six Weasleys, a Potter and a Granger clomped down one after another. Bill had gone back to his own place in London, spending the better part of an hour convincing his mother to let him go last night.

 

“I told you he was here! And he was cooking breakfast earlier.”

 

“We’re still not buying it,” George said.

 

“Where’s the apron?” Fred added.

 

“Yeah, Ron, where’s the apron,?” George continued.

 

“Sirius!” Harry looked very relieved to see his godfather, using the spare glasses Mrs Weasley had apparently stocked after his second year in case he came to visit again and they broke. An unbelievably kind and generous gesture.

 

He had only been told that Sirius and Gaara were at the Ministry answering questions but he had a pit in his stomach about it. Surely the Ministry could have waited to ask them about the fighting.

 

Gaara watched the reunion while he calculated how much of the piled plate set in front of him he would need to eat before he could be excused. He settled at 63.4%.

 

On one side sat Sirius but on Gaara’s other side was Ginny (the only child of the clan willing to sit next to him, it seemed), and across were the twins who wanted nothing more than to drill Sirius for answers. Every time they voiced such demands, Molly or Arthur would stop them and resume a polite conversation about schoolwork or Quidditch.

 

Harry was on Sirius’ other side, wanting to ask those same questions but sure he wouldn’t get any straight answers. He trusted his godfather not to lie to him or to treat him like an infant, but with Mr and Mrs Weasley around, Sirius was acting like a cowed child himself.

 

Ginny had tried posing a few of the pertinent questions, whispered covertly with her raised glass to cover her moving lips. Gaara was impressed by her subterfuge and irritated by the repeated attempts when he ignored her. She kept asking if he had fought, why he went to the Ministry with Sirius, where his gourd was.

 

The last one was a pretty good question, actually.

 

The food was greasy and the company brash, loud and boisterous. Gaara was looking forward to returning to Grimmauld Place where he could seclude himself and eat in peace (when Sirius wasn’t insisting otherwise).

 

His silence did not deter his inquisitor who continued to ask him about last night and then moved onto more acceptable lines of questioning, mainly about life with Sirius, homework, the incoming school year, her chances getting onto the House Team, et cetera. He still ignored her since he was quite used to doing so by that point in his meal.

 

He was feeling a little nauseous by the time he had eaten as little as he thought would be acceptable to his overbearing host. His slow eating finished at the same time everybody had cleared their plates. He looked and the only other one that had eaten anything less than their full portion was Ginny next to him, who was almost as tall as he was and was ‘trying to watch her figure’.

 

He shook off his budding Napoleon complex and picked up his plate, preparing to stand and take it to the sink. The food might not have been to his taste but it was a kind gesture and doing some dishes seemed like an equitable recompense for feeding him. He didn’t like coddling, but Mrs Weasley was essentially a good person and he was supposed to doing nice things for people like that.

 

“Oh, you can leave them there, Gaara.” Molly said, her watchful eye having caught his movement.

 

“Yeah, don’t worry. Mum’ll take care of it.” Ginny said casually.

 

“I would never use magic for cooking, it ruins the taste, but it’s fine for the washing up.” She smiled as she moved her chair back, pulled out her wand with a flourish and sent the dishes floating to the sink with a flick. The brush and sponge were already scrubbing them as everyone rose from their seats.

 

“I’m sorry but I really have to take you back now, Harry.” Sirius said, pulling his coat back on. “Thank you for breakfast, Molly. Lovely as always. And you’ll make sure Gaara is okay while I’m dropping Harry off?” He said, presumably confirming whatever he had asked in the other room.

 

“Yes, yes, go on if you’re going.” She waved him off. “And Harry, dear, you’ll come and stay with us next Wednesday for the last week of the holiday, won’t you.” She confirmed.

 

“Yes, Mrs Weasley.” He said, running upstairs to get his bag.

 

“Gaara, you go into the lounge with the boys and Ginny.” Molly encouraged.

 

He nodded and turned on his heel. His mechanical stride was with the foreknowledge that he was walking into the lions’ den. The Weasleys and Granger would pounce on him as soon as he walked through the door, he could already see it happening.

 

“Gaara, what happened?!” Granger practically yelled as the door was slid shut right behind him.

 

Gaara concentrated on not letting his shoulder slump in defeat.

 

“Yeah, why did you leave?” Ron added.

 

“He said he was checking on Draco, didn’t he?” Percy added.

 

“Yeah, but he also said he was gonna go and fight.” Fred or George said.

 

“They wouldn’t have dragged him to the Ministry with Sirius if he didn’t at least see the fight.” George or Fred continued.

 

Gaara sighed and moved to sit on the sofa as the group continued to debate between themselves what Gaara had or had not done last night. The only one not engrossed in the debate was Percy who was bitterly regretting his having the day off since the Ministry would be abuzz today.

 

Crouch would have given him so much responsibility, for sure, if he could just go in. But his mother refused to so much as entertain the idea, even refusing to let Arthur ‘pop in’ for an hour or two. Today was her day with her family (minus Bill and Harry who had to leave) and she wasn’t about to let Percy run off for his _unpaid_ internship with Crouch of all people.

 

Gaara and Hermione would be going home soon, and then Molly would crack out the board games!

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

After the worst part of an hour had passed, Sirius reappeared.

 

“So, he was probably using his sand is what you’re saying?” Ginny said.

 

“Well, we can’t be certain of that, but what we do know is-” Hermione was interrupted by the lounge door opening.

 

Sirius looked in on the group sat tightly around Gaara, all looking to deep in conversation apart from the topic of their debate, who was dead to the world once again. His ability to turn himself off like that was both impressive and worrying.

 

Molly and Arthur had just told him about the press conference Fudge was giving when he arrived, and he considered leaving Gaara to this close-knit hell so he could continue discussing it but the likely assault that would soon be perpetrated was not worth the schadenfreude. Plus there were more pressing matters like seeing Remus, to attend to.

 

“We’ve got to go now, Gaara.” Gaara had never looked so relieved, Sirius thought.

 

Gaara pushed his way through the huddled teens and walked straight out. They didn’t seem to miss him even as they continued speculating on what he had done during the battle.

 

“Come on, we’ll go and check on Moony now.” Sirius said in the same terse mood he always adopted after taking Harry back to Privet Drive.

 

“Thank you for your hospitality.” Gaara said to Mrs and Mr Weasley.

 

“You’re always welcome here, Gaara. Please do stop by again soon.” She replied, catching him a short hug.

 

“You must tell me about exploding knives sometime, Gaara. Simply fascinating!” Arthur said. He’d been bursting to ask all morning but Molly insisted on letting him alone with the children.

 

“Thanks again for breakfast and for keeping an eye on Harry and now Gaara.” Sirius said.

 

“You must come back soon. I’ll help you with those forms we talked about and I’m sure Molly will have some more useful advice for you.” Arthur smiled.

 

Sirius thanked him again and swept Gaara out of the door before much more could be said.

 

“Sorry I took so long. I had to stop by the house to drop off the tents and pick up something for Remus.”

 

Gaara suspected the little silver thing in Sirius’ pocket was a flask, freshly refilled with single-malt but made no mention of it.

 

After he had recovered from the post-apparition nausea and mood, Gaara was quite impressed by the wizarding hospital, much more modern and clean than most of the magical buildings he had seen. He was hoping the visit would be short so he could go back to Sirius’ and rest at last, although with any luck they could take a taxi since they were already in London.

 

They drew fewer stares in this building, the magical equivalents of doctors and nurses running about the place with little interest in an ex-convict and a peculiar redhead. Even when Sirius stopped a witch in the hall and asked for directions, she seemed wholly uninterested in them and didn’t seem to recognise Sirius at all as she guided them to the correct floor.

 

Sirius was not happy to find Remus’ room in the Infectious Magical Diseases and Secure Patients Ward, the doors made of very heavy wood and all having locks on both sides.

 

Inside a room that had signs outside notifying visitors of the presence of a werewolf, they found Remus lying in bed looking bored and tired. It was a bare room but there was a small dish with some grapes next to his bed that he had started on. It took a moment for Gaara to work out that Mr Weasley had probably purchased them for Remus when he arrived.

 

With how late things had run last night and how hurt he was supposed to be, Gaara found it odd that his chronically lethargic friend was awake.

 

“I thought the kissogram wasn’t due round till midday.” He quipped, struggling to push himself up to sitting position with his heavily bandaged arm.

 

Sirius smirked but then stopped himself from moving and pulled out the silver device in his pocket. He held it up and pulled out a decorative needle that had immobilised a spinning component that started up immediately after. It span so fast it rose into the air and let off some sparks and sank back down to the main piece where Sirius again fixed it with the needle.

 

“One of the more useful keepsakes from my paranoid father. Just had to make sure no one was watching or listening in.” Sirius smiled. “Now, you were saying about a kissogram?” He transformed into Padfoot and ran up to Remus to slobber all over him.

 

“Get off me you mangy mutt!” The man griped, trying to push the shaggy black dog off of his hospital bed before it was covered in fur. It would send the nurse into a panic if she found fur in a werewolf’s bed days before the full moon.

 

Padfoot didn’t struggle much and jumped back down, his tail wagging frantically. Gaara watched the animal antics and prayed he wasn’t forced to strike a dog should that man-dog try to lick his face too.

 

Sirius straightened back up in his human form and smiled still as he sat in the bed-side chair. He whipped out his wand and locked the door.

 

“I don’t have mange. I have a vet’s note and everything.” Sirius said. “And you’re looking well.”

 

“Nothing a couple nights in here won’t fix. I’ll have to come back after my transformation, though. The healer said it would probably undo most of their work.”

 

“That’s pretty understanding of them.” Sirius said.

 

“Well, he did say he didn’t want me coming back until two days after the moon’s passed, ‘just in case’. I’ll just have a friend keep an eye on me until then.” Remus said.

 

“Oh, which friend were you thinking this time?” Sirius leaned forward, feigning casual interest.

 

“I’m not sure. So many on holiday this time of year, plus the bank holiday is coming up so I don’t want to impose.”

 

“I know how you hate to impose.” Sirius chuckled.

 

Gaara was watching the light and friendly banter distantly. He knew this was just Sirius’ way of checking Remus was okay but Gaara had no way of entering into the facetious repartee so he settled into the other chair and waited. They would inevitably draw him in sooner or later.

 

Sirius had moved on quicker than expected to recounting their interrogation for the second time that morning. It was almost as boring as experiencing it, Gaara thought.

 

“But, he was okay, I think. He’s going to be back at the Burrow next week and I’ll take him to Diagon Alley.” Sirius said, finishing his tale with the morose delivery of Harry into the unwelcoming arms of the Dursleys.

 

“I would imagine so. Will Bandit be going with you or do you want me to take him?”

 

“Thanks but I think I’ll take both. Plus I have a whole speech lined up for when I take them to Zonko’s showroom and I don’t want to have to say it twice.”

 

Remus laughed as did Sirius. It was good to see that, especially in a hospital.

 

“I heard the radio earlier. Fudge is saying it was a terrorist cell. Last of You-Know-Who’s followers.” Remus said.

 

“Yeah, I heard it. It’d be lovely to think that there are only a dozen of them left in the country. And to think: none of them work at the Ministry!” Sirius laughed bitterly.

 

“As long as none of them work here, I’m happy for now.” Remus added.

 

Sirius chuckled for a little longer but he went quiet afterwards.

 

“I can’t put this off any longer. Not just today, I’ve been avoiding this for… Well, I’ve been ignoring this for a while now. Questions coming up and I’ve told myself they don’t matter. But that’s not true. I have to know, I need the answers and I think you do too, Remus.”

 

Sirius paused and looked to Gaara, who had a sinking suspicion this is where things would lead after Sirius locked the door. “Gaara, last night was well beyond your usual level of… your normal level. Something happened, and I should have seen whatever it is coming. But with what happened, how normal it was for you, and your eye… I need you to tell me everything, Gaara. I need the truth. Please.”

 

Gaara felt trapped, but he could have escaped. He could run away and they would never know the truth. Better he be gone than finding out this secret.

 

But he didn’t run. He didn’t jump to the door and keep running until his existence could no longer bring ruin and pain to his friends. Instead, he stayed sat where he was and looked up at Sirius and Remus, trying not to feel like the teenager he technically was.

 

“It’s okay, Gaara, we’re just worried. Take your time.”

 

He took a deep breath.

 

“It started the night I killed my mother…” He started.

 

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

 

Omake:

 

August was a nice month, Gaara thought as he ran back from the match. It was the warmest and that was pretty much all he required in order to decide it was the best time of year. He had ditched the others to have some time alone before the others arrived back and enjoy a moment’s peace and quiet.

 

The first such moment since Sirius had practically dragged him out of the house.

 

The woods were dark now and were quiet. It was very pleasant. He was almost tempted to spend the evening in here, enjoy the night air and the smell of the forest. He slowed his pace, the lead he had gained would provide plenty of time to settle when he got back to the campsite.

 

He walked through the trees, enjoying the feeling of his feet on the soft forest floor, and the sight of two people making out against a tree…

 

…hold on…

 

He had paused when he walked into view of a sturdy tree, against which a pair of twenty-somethings were deep in the throes of a passionate lip-lock. The surprise had cause him to stop in his tracks, but in doing so, one of the otherwise occupied participants parted one of their eyes and happened to catch sight of a pale boy with bright scarlet hair and dark rimmed eyes staring right at them.

 

She screamed.

 

Gaara continued walking, ignoring the reaction and the boyfriend trying to calm her back down.

 

‘I wonder if this is related to what Kankuro used to say about Temari and that Nara boy ‘sucking face’?’ Gaara thought. ‘She sometimes screamed at Kankuro too.’ It fit the description, anyway.

 

Gaara mused on the purpose of kissing as he walked the rest of the way to Sirius’ tent. By the time he got there, he came to the conclusion that it was the eleventh human behaviour that simply had no rational explanation or purpose to it.


	3. Same Old story

It was time to come clean.

 

Deep breath.

 

“It started the night I killed my mother…” He began, with Sirius and Remus entirely focussed on his words.

 

Gaara paused; even after disclosing that damaging fact of his history he was struggling to admit the rest of the terrible secrets he held. This past year had been the first in his life where he wasn’t surrounded by people who knew who and what he was. It had been a nice year, all things considered, but it was inevitably going end.

 

“My father needed a weapon… he was not a kind man. He wasn’t a good father. He…” Now that he was finally doing this, Gaara did not know how to articulate himself. He took another suspenseful breath to centre himself.

 

“In my world, there are no wizards and the technological development is behind this world’s. We have a type of magic but it is used differently and there are different types, different natures. Other than that, our worlds are strikingly similar. Similar animals, same human shapes. But in my home world there are also demons, the tailed beasts.”

 

“You’re joking, right? Demons?” Sirius spoke, regretting it when he thought he might have interrupted. The notion of demons conjured the Judaeo-Christian form of them but he guessed the word had different connotations to the off-worlder.

 

“Monsters, nine of them. Giant and destructive. And evil. As big as Hogwarts and comprised entirely of chakra, of magic.” From the wide-eyed stares he was receiving, he believed Sirius and Remus understood what he was saying so far. “They destroy and kill, and they hate humans. My village possessed one of these demons and they used it to make a weapon. By sealing it inside of a container, they could harness its power for war.”

 

“War?” Sirius asked, once again unable to stop himself despite the glare Remus sent him.

 

“War and killing. Both are common.” Gaara knew this was an understatement but trying to express the harsh reality of his home was a task unto itself and he had other things to say right now. “Weapons, food, corpses, can be sealed into objects, for transportation, usually. Demons are too powerful, so they have to be sealed inside…”

 

One more word and the growing suspicion on their faces would be forever resolved.

 

“…humans.”

 

Their wide eyes were back, either from the practice of sealing demons in humans, or because they had indeed pieced the truth together already. Gaara wasn’t sure which. He continued regardless.

 

“My father needed a weapon so he sealed a demon in his unborn third child. Me. As a result, I was born prematurely, and in the process I killed my mother.”

 

“Wait a minute, you’re part demon?” Sirius asked, rudely glossing over the horror and self-hatred of that last statement.

 

Gaara tried not to let the sudden feelings of hurtful familiarity show on his face at being mistaken for the demon he contained. “It is inside of me, distinct but connected to me. It is a being of pure magic so its essence bleeds into mine. That is why I can control the sand. It protects me. But as a result of being a Jinchūriki, when I tried to sleep, the demon possessed me and rampaged while consuming my mind. I would have died from insomnia had it not also healed me.”

 

“How long did you go without sleep?” Remus finally chimed in, intellectual curiosity mingling with his intense concern.

 

“Three years was the longest I went without possession.”

 

“Three years without a full night’s sleep?!” Remus could hardly imagine the sort of hell that would be.

 

“Without any sleep.” Gaara corrected.

 

He could have stopped there. Surely, Sirius would have let him go without pressing for more answers, at least for now. But it was never going to get any easier, and more to the point, this would likely be his last opportunity to say everything. A demon was to be shunned, as was Gaara, and for good reason too.

 

“You mentioned something called a ‘Jinchooriky’, what is that? Is that you?” Remus asked.

 

“It means ‘sacrifice’, the ones who hold a demon and use its power.”

 

“A sacrifice? What do you mean by sacrifice?” Sirius wanted elaboration.

 

“We are hated for what we are and what we carry. We live alone and we are usually killed in battle or by our comrades when we lose control.”

 

“And your father did this to you, knowing all of that? He put a monster inside of you so you would fight for him?” Sirius was getting the impression that Gaara’s father and Orion would have gotten along swimmingly. Swapped tips, even.

 

“He was the leader of our military. He had a daughter and a son; he needed a weapon more than another child.”

 

“And that was the person who raised you?” Sirius continued, incredulous.

 

“No, my mother’s brother cared for me, under my father’s orders. He was nice but he hated me and I had to kill him to survive. I killed him and all of the assassins that came after, ordered to destroy me because I was unstable, by my father.”

 

“He tried to have you killed because he thought you were _unstable_?” Remus asked, disbelief etched onto his face. Sure, it was not as if Gaara was entirely normal or well-adjusted, but surely he wasn’t that bad, and nothing could justify a father ordering _that_ , nor an uncle actually trying to _do_ it.

 

“I used to be unstable. I let Shukaku control me; I listened to it.”

 

“Shukaku? That’s the name on the Map, the one you didn’t want to talk about.” Sirius exclaimed. That made a whole lot more sense now. “The demon inside of you is called Shukaku.”

 

Gaara nodded. One last thing to say now.

 

“I… have killed people. Many people. Assassins, my fellow shinobi, enemies, civilians. Even children. I felt that I needed to.”

 

Twin breaths caught in a pair of throats across the room.

 

There it was, everything laid bare. Gaara came from another world, he was a shinobi, a warrior, he transformed on the full moon for some reason, he contained a demon, and he had killed hundreds of shinobi, killers in their own rights. And innocents. So many innocents.

 

There were no more secrets.

 

“Wh- What do…You haven’t...That’s not you… You don’t…” Remus was utterly lost for words.

 

“There’s hasn’t...You haven’t hurt anyone since you got here, though; right?” Sirius’ question was anything but rhetorical. He was honestly afraid that Gaara had hurt or killed people in secret, judging only by his own words. Sirius didn’t want to believe the small boy was anything but inherently good, but if he was housing some sort of a demon, if he had truly killed…

 

This was all too much.

 

“No, those two men were the first humans I have killed here. I’m…I fought in a war a year before I came here. I battled against someone there, someone like me. But he was different; despite being a Jinchūriki, he had people precious to him. He showed me a different way. I no longer need to kill to validate my existence.” Gaara thought back to that day in Konoha, as he often did, and the many conversations he had in the aftermath with his peer. “I can control Shukaku now, and my impulses are weaker. I lost control yesterday. My upset at seeing you hurt weakened my control for a moment.”

 

Sirius thought for a second, wanting to tackle all of the big issues that Gaara had laid on them, but right now all he could process was the immediate. “Remus wasn’t hurt until after you killed that first Death Eater with your knife, when you first showed up

at the battle…” He didn’t mean it to sound like an accusation, but in a sense it was.

 

“That was a casualty of battle. I responded with deadly force.” The way Gaara said it, without a shred of remorse that he had been subtly expressing until now, was chilling to the bone. His ability to switch between a scared, unloved child and a mature, battle-hardened warrior was one of his most disturbing.

 

Sirius sat back in his chair, his hand rubbing his face. He was tired and he was struggling to understand Gaara more than ever. Gaara was his friend, though he had always been a little _off_ , but this was beyond the pale. What he was saying, what he was claiming, was monstrous. There was no other word for it.

 

Remus was saddened, by the reality these terrible secrets would necessitate, but also because Sirius and he had spent so much energy trying to socialise Gaara this summer and all that time the boy had rejected knowing such interactions were inherently dangerous. A lot like Remus had been when he first started Hogwarts.

 

Sirius looked up at Gaara and tried to discern some expression of remorse or regret, but as ever Gaara’s stony countenance showed absolutely nothing on his face. Sirius would have had no idea what Gaara was feeling if the melancholic reminiscence had not drained all of the positivity from his seemingly monotone voice during his uncharacteristically long speech.

 

He had only been listening to Gaara’s rasping voice for a couple months of sporadic short answers but Sirius was becoming rather adept at hearing the subtle intonations. As far as he could remember, whether by speech or by writing, Gaara had never communicated this much in one go before.

 

“I think I should go now.” Gaara said, getting to his feet, ready to leave them both for good.

 

“No, stay there.” Sirius said, assuming Gaara meant to go stand in the hall. He didn’t want the boy wandering off right now.

 

If Sirius were honest with himself, he would admit that he was a little scared of Gaara right now, but in his confused state of mind, his automatic reaction was to keep the boy in sight and get him home until he could make a level decision.

 

“I think I’m going to get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He patted Remus on his un-injured shoulder and rose unsteadily to his feet.

 

Gaara was waiting for his marching orders, some sort of dismissal. He did not expect Sirius to open the door for him and to lead him out of the room, the wing, and the hospital. As he stood in front of Grimmauld Place, he thought Sirius was being very kind and brave to allow him to collect his few possessions.

 

He was glad Sirius hadn’t said anything to him. The silence was better than the scorn. When he stole a glance at the man’s face, he knew his suspicion was right, that fear and mistrust had taken the place of affection and joviality and that he definitely had no home here anymore.

 

Sirius let Gaara in and then silently set the wards, locking down the house as he had seldom done before. Gaara walked on ahead, up the stairs, his face still devoid of emotion. Sirius wanted to say something, he knew he should be saying something, that James would have known to say something, but right now all he could do was stay silent and watch Gaara’s feet disappear to the next floor.

 

It was only when he was alone, when he wasn’t looking at Gaara and wasn’t forced to think about what he had been told moments before, that he could finally open his mouth to say something.

 

“Kreacher! Get me a bottle of something. Anything strong.”

 

By the time Gaara had collected his things and brought them downstairs, Sirius had already passed out, either from the booze or sleep deprivation and exhaustion. Gaara was again glad. No forced farewells. They could leave each other as friends.

 

When he tried the door, it was locked and warded. Looking at Sirius, he didn’t think he would awaken any time soon.

 

Why lock down the house like this?

 

It then occurred to Gaara that this was what Sirius had decided, that Gaara was too dangerous to be let loose and he was to be kept locked up until something else could be arranged. Gaara was surprised to find himself as a prisoner. Not that he didn’t deserve to be locked up, he had long believed that was the least he deserved, but he had not expect Sirius to be the one to do it. With the man’s history and with his personality, Gaara hadn’t thought he was capable.

 

Gaara carried his possessions back up to his room and waited. Eventually Sirius would wake up and Gaara could ask to be let go. Hopefully their past friendship would inspire some clemency.

 

Needing some proper rest and unable to sleep or read, Gaara settled down to meditate and clear his mind. Shukaku was still harping on in the back of his mind so anything to relax a little would ease his burden enormously.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

Sirius awoke sometime in the evening as the unseen summer sun was setting. His hangover was profound and he called for a restorative immediately or, failing that, the hair of the dog that bit him. When he downed the vial of hangover cure, he only then remembered why he had been drinking on a Friday morning until passing out. With no inebriation or hangover to distract him, he had to deal with the problem of what Gaara had told him.

 

And, more pertinently, what was he to do with that information? What was he to do with Gaara?

 

He looked at the stairs but he couldn’t face seeking out his ward right now. He considered getting another bottle and writing off the day entirely but alcoholism ran in the family and besides that he couldn’t avoid his problems forever.

 

He was getting hungry and assumed Gaara would be too so he called for his despised servant again. Suddenly, realisation struck and Kreacher’s fear of Gaara was not so funny anymore.

 

After he sent off the despised remnant of his mother’s cruelty, Sirius continued his musings. This house, that he had pretty much no choice but to return to when he found himself free and responsible for at least one full-time dependent, had begun to change over the past few months. Having Gaara and Remus and occasionally Harry staying here, it had started to feel like home, like he had at Hogwarts. With Remus in the hospital, and Gaara…the Gaara he knew before the revelation, gone, it felt cold and empty again. All that was left were his hated house elf and those terrible memories.

 

Soon he had his dinner in front of him and Kreacher had set Gaara’s outside his door. Sirius poked at his food, forcing himself to take a few bites so his hunger would be lessened when his nausea, unrelated to his daytime drinking and hangover, had eventually abated. Many nasty words could (and were) spoken about Kreacher, often to his pinched face, but his cooking had always been to a very high standard. Not quite Hogwarts or Molly Weasley, but as far as a home cooking went it was perfectly enjoyable on most occasions.

 

Right now it had no taste.

 

He pulled out his radio in the evening and used it to avoid thinking about anything until very late into the night when he had a small chance of getting back to sleep. He managed to get only a couple hours of sleep which was good in a way as it made his body ache. It was satisfying for his body to feel as stressed as his mind.

 

Gaara did not appear to have emerged from his room yet, other than to eat even less of his dinner than Sirius had. Sirius stayed downstairs, afraid of encountering his houseguest on a trip to the bathroom. The knowledge remained, that he should go and talk to Gaara, but he was a coward and would continue to ignore and avoid his friend and ward for as long as chance and neglect would allow him.

 

He made sure to have food sent up regularly from breakfast onwards. Gaara would let himself starve rather than break the code of silence between them, it seemed.

 

The bearded coward was getting ready to start a morning of drinking when an owl came tapping on his window. Looking out, he was relieved to see Hedwig perched there. A beautiful owl, if ever there was one, and she seemed to be fully aware of this fact. He let her in and set out a bowl of water for her. He sat down and she stood staring at him from his previously untarnished, polished teak table, now sporting a number of talon marks. She did not seem to be in any rush to get back to Surrey so Harry had probably asked her to wait for him to reply.

 

She was close enough to his seat that he could have leaned over and stroked her snow white feathers, but a small scar on his right index finger had taught him to keep his hands to himself when Hedwig was around. Whether it was the scent of dog, his scruffy appearance, the look of disappointment whenever Harry returned from Grimmauld Place, or some other avian instinct, for some reason Hedwig seemed to bear some sort of grudge against Sirius and would not permit over-familiarity.

 

Beautiful but judgemental bird.

 

When she squawked, he stopped staring at her and turned to his letter. Hogwarts clearly did not give penmanship lessons anymore, sadly. Perhaps he could devote an afternoon over the winter break to improve his godson’s abysmal handwriting. He pulled out his antique sterling-silver letter opener and sliced through the paper. It had been cursed to cut open the hand of anybody who tried using it, but since it was also quite pretty he had had the curse removed so he could keep it. It was also absurdly sharp.

 

‘ _Dear Sirius,_

_Finally finished the last of my homework last night. Hermione insisted I had to get it all done and a terrorist attack is no excuse for delay. At least it’s all finished now so I can wait for my results to come out tomorrow._

_How is Professor Lupin doing? Have you heard anything more? And I hope you and Gaara are okay after that Ministry thing._

_I’m looking forward to going back to the Burrow for the last week of the holiday. Ron asked me to pass on a message from Fred and George. They wanted to remind you of ‘the stakes.’ I hope you know what that means._

_I’ll tell Hedwig to wait for a reply. Be careful of her beak this time. I’ve told her to be polite but she seems to think she knows best._

_Harry_ ’

 

Sirius smiled at the letter, setting it aside, to add to his growing pile of correspondence from Harry. He walked over to his writing desk and set out his letter writing supplies. He had told Harry a hundred times to refer to Remus by his Marauder title or at least his first name (or any number of unflattering nicknames he had thought up), so Sirius had taken to playing dumb.

 

‘ _To Prongslet,_

_You really must remember to use our monikers when writing official letters._

_I’m afraid I’m not familiar with any “Professor Lupin”, but if I hear anything about him (her?) in the papers, I will let you know._

_Bandit and I are fine. The Ministry, in their infinite wisdom, has decided to send some people around to check on us but after that the matter will be settled. You need not worry about it._

_I look forward to hearing about your results. And remember what I told you, I will be proud of you so long as your grades come in above the “Sirius Black line of slacking”. I have no doubts._

_I know what the twins are referring to and I will conclude that matter soon. If I happen to stop by the Weasleys next week, please know that it will not be to see you and any interaction we might have will be entirely by accident. With that said, I’ll be there on Wednesday so make sure you have your broom ready to fly._

_About the dream you mentioned yesterday morning, I have given it some thought and I would suggest you needn’t worry about it. It was probably just a dream as you said. I will run it past an old acquaintance of mine who would know, just to be safe._

_Always lovely to hear from you, my wonderful godson,_

_Your beneficent and glorious godfather,_

_Padfoot_

_P.s. Although you didn’t ask, Moony is doing quite well. I’m going to see him this afternoon and will give him your best wishes._ ’

 

He smiled before penning the envelope and sealing it with his crest. He placed it on the tables and slowly slid it towards Hedwig, who lashed out with her beak when his hand came too close. He snatched his fingers back in time and chuckled at the fickle bird.

 

“Go on, back to Harry.” He smiled, opening the window back up. “You know, if you were nicer to me, I might tell Kreacher to prepare some nice mice for you to eat.”

 

Hedwig hooted at him before flying out, ignoring his offer, apparently.

 

Sirius was looking forward to seeing Harry again, of course, but he would have to keep his visit brief to keep the Ministry from complaining about undocumented contact. This way, he could still claim it was nothing more than a consequence.

 

More than the restricted and crowded visit he would get on Wednesday, he could not wait for his chance to take Harry school supply shopping at the end of the month.

 

He was supposed to be taking Gaara too…

 

Before he could be tempted into drinking those thoughts away, or perhaps raiding his potions cabinet for something more entertaining or numbing, he got dressed and headed over to St Mungo’s to see and talk to Remus. It occurred to him, as he was locking the door behind him, that Gaara might have wanted to come and check on Remus, but Sirius quashed that thought, as he did with everything regarding Gaara at the moment, and continued onwards.

 

The door was heavily bolted when he arrived at Remus’ room, which he resented. Clearly Care of Magical Creatures had managed to misinform an entire generation about the affliction of lycanthropy, particularly regarding the days and nights other than the night of the full moon and the danger a sufferer posed then. Rubeus could do a lot of good if only he were allowed to teach about werewolves, although apparently that was now the job of the Defence Against the Dark Arts curriculum. Dark “creatures” that needed to be fought and perhaps killed did not need “care.”

 

Ridiculous.

 

He looked down on Remus, sat up in bed with a novel in his lap.

 

“Grandma, what an awfully big nose you have.” Sirius smiled.

 

Remus sighed. He had heard all of the fairy tale jokes a hundred times by now, especially ones about Little Red Riding Hood. Sirius needed new material.

 

Sirius pulled out his little silver device and checked for bugs again and then came forward and flopped into the bedside chair.

 

“How are you doing?” Remus asked, trying to hide his disappointment that Sirius hadn’t brought him any grapes.

 

“I think I’m supposed to ask _you_ that.” Sirius smirked, groaning. He needed to stop sleeping in his armchair. Did horrors to his suddenly thirty-year-old neck. “I’m fine.” He lied. “How are you? They’re feeding you, right?”

 

“Yes, they’ve been bringing my meals around like clockwork.” Remus lied back. “I still feel like you look, but I’ll be fine. At least I will be well enough to change tomorrow.”

 

“Good. Harry sends his love. Still calls you Professor Lupin, you know.” Sirius laughed.

 

“He’ll get over it soon enough. In two weeks he’ll have a new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.”

 

“Hopefully one that doesn’t skive off work so often.” Sirius smirked.

 

“I thought Gaara might come with you today. Did he not want to come?”

 

Sirius frowned. “Maybe… he probably didn’t want to.”

 

“You didn’t ask him.”

 

“He’s been holed up in his room. I’ve been sending his food up to him.”

 

“So you haven’t talked to him?” Remus sounded alarmed.

 

“He’s probably fine. I haven’t been… I can’t just talk to him like he didn’t say anything yesterday. You heard what he said. He killed children. I can’t just ignore that!” Sirius clutched his head.

 

“He _is_ a child, Sirius. He needs help. He needs us to support him.”

 

“You heard how he spoke. I care about Gaara, you know I do. I still worry about him, but the way he talked yesterday… it’s too much. His burden, that demon or whatever, it’s too dangerous. I don’t know what to do. I’m just trying not to make him worse, you know?”

 

Remus coughed and then beckoned Sirius closer to his bed.

 

Sirius leaned in close to his ill friend, trying to make out what Remus was about to say to him. Remus turned to his best friend and punched him as hard as he could in the face, sending him sprawling onto the floor.

 

Sirius clutched his cheek, looking up at Remus, who was breathing hard from the minor exertion and clutching his jostled injury.

 

“You’re being an idiot, Sirius. What’s worse is that you know it, too. He’s a boy that needs guidance; you can’t just hide from him and get drunk like you’re a teenager as well.”

 

“I know that, but can you honestly say you would have done it any differently, Remus? What he told us he did, and what he is…”

 

Remus paused. “I’m ashamed to admit this, but to be honest, I was a little comforted by it. Don’t tell Gaara this, but hearing that he possessed a monster inside of him too struck a chord. As far as I know, I’ve never killed or turned a human as Moony, but there are a few full moons I don’t remember when I might well have. There’s nothing I can do about those, but I know the feeling of housing something that might kill people.”

 

“But he remembers it all, Remus!”

 

“I know that, and that’s why he needs your help. I’d probably be a vegetarian if I remembered half the animals I had caught as a wolf. But I don’t remember, and I only killed animals, and I had my mother and my father and then my friends at school to help me. Gaara remembers every person he’s killed, and as he describes it, it sounds like his father not only failed to help but gave him the curse in the first place. You can’t turn your back on him now, Sirius.”

 

“I know that, but I don’t know how to help him!” Sirius confessed. “He’s a child, just like Harry, but he acts like a veteran half the time. Reminds me of Alastor, actually.”

 

“That’s because he _is_ a veteran. He’s fought in wars and killed.”

 

“But he said he killed civilians, people who weren’t fighters. I don’t blame him, of course I don’t, but how can I help him with that. I can’t even imagine what goes on in his head and I’m supposed to be the one to make it alright for him, right?” Sirius looked closer to tears than Remus had seen him since his escape.

 

“Just continue to look after him like you have. Show him how a teenager is supposed to act. You’re practically a teenager yourself, you’re perfect for the job. His world was full of demons and warriors and war, but here he can just be a boy.”

 

Sirius finally got back off of the floor and settled into the chair again.

 

“Are you saying I should just ignore his past and pretend he is just another normal teenage boy?”

 

“Do you really think that would work?” Remus smiled, “Gaara isn’t a normal boy. He’s not. There’s no getting around that fact, Sirius. You can’t treat him like a boy who was raised in a normal home. Treat Gaara like Gaara, like a boy who has seen and done things even you or I haven’t seen.”

 

“And the demon?” Sirius asked.

 

Remus sighed, “The same way you treated me. Treat him like you otherwise would and just be careful of when it acts up.”

 

“How come you got to be the wise one?” Sirius griped.

 

“I had to balance you out.” Remus laughed until he coughed. “You’re going to need to be more careful than ever around the Ministry. If they found out about Gaara, about his burden and about him being a so-called ‘human weapon’, they won’t stop. It won’t be investigations or interviews, they will take him and use him by force. You know that.”

 

“Yeah. I’ve no doubt. Still, we’ve managed to go this long without them knowing anything. They’ll lose interest in Gaara eventually, even if it takes a few years.”

 

“Only if he stops drawing attention to himself.”

 

“I want to say he can have a quiet year this year, without a convict bothering him every couple of days, but what Harry told me has me concerned.”

 

“What did Harry say?”

 

“Oh, of course, I haven’t told you yet. Sorry, I forgot. With all of that’s happened with Gaara, I suppose it’s the only reason I could overlook something like this. Harry had a dream the over night, the night before the World Cup finals, and apparently he dreamed he saw You-Know-Who and some of his followers making plans.”

 

“Plans?” Remus sat up in his bed.

 

“Plans to kidnap Harry and to plant a spy in the Ministry.”

 

“But it was just a dream, just his imagination.” The way Remus said it made it sound like a question to Sirius’ ears.

 

“I’m not sure. Probably. Hopefully. I’m going to contact Dumbledore and let him know. If anybody has any answers, it’s him. It was just the way Harry described it, he doesn’t believe it was a dream. It probably is nothing but it’s hard not to worry. Thought of another war starting, another generation being ruined…”

 

“I’m sure you’re right, it’s probably nothing.” Remus agreed, neither sounding as convinced as they would like. Even a decade after Voldemort’s downfall, he still had the people who battled against him spooked.

 

Downfall because Dumbledore had always maintained that his dissapearance did not equal death.

 

The pair took a while to mull over the two topics. Sirius continued, recounting as much detail of the dream as he could remember. They discussed it a little more, but it did not amount to much as they were both still resolute that it _had_ to have been a dream and nothing more.

 

“What should I say to Gaara?” Sirius asked out of the blue when the conversation lagged.

 

“Huh?” Remus was caught off guard and had to consider it. “I don’t know. You just need to remember that Gaara needs more than a bed or a place to stay, he needs someone to care for him.”

 

Sirius felt unsure he could be that person to Gaara. As much as anything, Gaara needed a father, a family, and Sirius had about as much experience with those two things as Gaara did. Both Harry and Gaara needed help and needed a family and Sirius had grown up with Walburga and Orion and Regulus as his family exemplar.

 

“Just go and talk to him. I’m sure you’ll say something that will piss Gaara off and break the tension in less than a minute.” Remus smiled.

 

Sirius tried to mimic the expression, “Yeah, I’ll talk to him.”

 

Sirius went back to Grimmauld Place. As he walked in the door, he took five steps towards the stairs, intent on confronting Gaara and airing the problems before he chickened out and slumped into his chair again. He hoped Remus didn’t punch him in the face again because of this.

 

His staircase seemed so much steeper right now, knowing the problems that were at the top of it. He knew he was supposed to go and confront them, talk to Gaara and help him through what was surely a difficult time, but the more he thought about it, the less he felt like he could.

 

He sighed, called himself a weakling and picked up his motorbike magazine. He was supposed to be getting it back from Hagrid soon so he had been looking up spare parts since he knew the half-giant would not have properly maintained it these past twelve or thirteen years.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

As Sirius awoke on Sunday morning with yet another hangover, two things occurred to him: that he might be developing that drinking problem he had been worried about, and that he hadn’t actually seen Gaara since Friday morning. He would have been forced to investigate, to make sure that Gaara had not run off, but for the occasional stirring, toilet flushes and the reports from Kreacher which gave satisfactory proof that he could continue ignoring the issue.

 

He spent a couple hours killing time, even resorted to cleaning a little, before returning to St. Mungo’s to collect Remus. Like the day before, the door was locked tight and Remus hadn’t been brought any breakfast. Not that he would want to eat anything, the state he was in. Sirius hadn’t seen Remus this sickly looking in a long time. The lycanthropy and the new curse still raging away inside of his shoulder clashing together to make the man miserable.

 

“You look like shit, Remus.”

 

“Not all of us can afford the luxury of ivory moustache combs.” Remus wheezed, trying to sit up.

 

“I switched back to the whalebone one, actually. Works better with the beard oils.” Sirius smiled, twirling his moustache a little.

 

“I’ve already had my temporary discharge form slid under the door so we don’t need to be waiting around.”  Remus continued his aching movements.

 

Sirius rushed over to him and helped bring him to his unsteady feet.

 

“In all seriousness, will you be okay tonight?”

 

“Don’t have much choice either way, do I? If I could have a night off every once in a while, I don’t imagine this whole ‘werewolf’ thing would be such a big deal.”

 

Sirius snagged a wheelchair since one wasn’t provided, and tried to ignore the blatant looks of fear and derision directed towards Remus as they slowly ambled out of the hospital. Sirius was dillydallying since he knew he would be on the receiving end of some scorn himself when they arrived. As far as Remus knew, everything was going swimmingly back at the house.

 

Sirius had called for a taxi earlier so it was waiting for them outside. He had foreseen that Remus would be too weak to apparate, and driving through London was a nightmare even on a Sunday, so he loaded Remus into the cab and also folded the wheelchair up and snagged it too.

 

He dumped Remus into the unpacked, stolen wheelchair and paid the cabby. When he was sure there was nobody watching, he levitated Remus’ chair and Remus up the steps since carrying his ill friend did not seem like fun.

 

As he was opening the door, he turned back to Remus with a strained smile and said, “Oh, before I forget to mention, I didn’t quite get around to talking to Gaara yesterday.”

 

Remus’ eyes shot wide but he bit his tongue when he noticed Sirius had timed the confession to come as they were near Walburga’s portrait. If Remus tried having a go at Sirius now, the portrait would drown it out anyway, and the last thing his headache needed was the addition of that shrill woman’s voice screaming on top of it.

 

Sirius dragged his angry friend to the drawing room and transferred him to a plush chair and poured him a drink. As Remus started up on the guilt-tripping, Sirius began to remember that time after graduation, when three of the Marauders had voted it would be a good idea to get Remus (the fourth and excluded Marauder from said vote) so drunk on the day of the full moon that Moony would still be drunk after transforming. Unforeseeably, it turned out to be a bad idea since drunk werewolves tended to be surly.

 

Funny in retrospect, but as a result they hadn’t gone through with their other plans to have Remus smoke or take certain other substances before transforming.

 

Sirius shared this reminiscence and Remus scowled and remarked that Sirius had insisted for months after that they continue the experiment over the others’ objections.

 

“Oh, right, now I remember. I still have some stuff that might be fun to try, you know…”

 

“Stop trying to distract me.” Remus refused to laugh at his friend’s antics. “Go and get Gaara. Evidently I can’t trust you to do this on your own like an adult, so I will supervise.”

 

“Fine.” Sirius accurately mimicked a teenager and stomped out of the room.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

Gaara had been reading the only book on his fourth year reading list the Black family library contained when he heard a great bellow, “Gaara!” come from downstairs. He was embarrassed to have dropped his book, having flinched so hard at the sudden exclamation of his name after two days of total silence and isolation.

 

Apparently it was time to face Sirius’ wrath and judgement.

 

He was feeling stiff so walking downstairs for the first time in days was dizzying. He found both Sirius and Remus, who must have been sprung from the hospital for the night, sitting in the lounge, both looking rather grim.

 

Sirius stood as soon as he entered and as he walked towards him, Gaara guessed Sirius was about to hit him. He had his sand armour on so it would not hurt him.

 

Sirius walked right up to Gaara, watching him tense up, and pulled him into a hug. He knew Gaara didn’t like close bodily contact but occasionally an embrace was the most powerful thing a person could say. Gaara’s wide eyes indicated one message or another was coming through loud and clear.

 

“I’m sorry for being a rubbish guardian the last couple of days, Gaara. I should have come and talked to you but… I’m a coward.” All while saying this, he hadn’t let go of Gaara, suddenly wondering how long it would take for the tiny redhead to get too uncomfortable and try to escape.

 

Answer: 15 more seconds.

 

Noticing the squirming, Sirius wondered what Gaara would do. He had forgotten that Gaara, despite being so much smaller than him, was incredibly strong. Gaara pushed his way out of the awkward hug and stepped back, glaring at him.

 

“Under a minute to act like an ass. You’ve outdone yourself.” Remus remarked.

 

“Come and sit down, Gaara.” Sirius gestured towards the sofa while he sat back on his chair.

 

“I should go. If you will release the wards, I will leave. I will not cause anybody anymore trouble.”

 

“What? Leave? Where are you going?” Sirius asked.

 

“Wards?! Sirius, did you set up wards around the house?” Remus was cross with him.

 

“No! I just put up a simple barrier on the door. Figured Gaara wouldn’t try a window after that.” Sirius said.

 

Gaara felt a little foolish, having fallen for the trick. He looked back the way he had come, intending to leave immediately through a window once he had collected his things.

 

“You’re not going anywhere, Gaara. Well, not until you go to Hogwarts, and then you’re coming back for Christmas. There are still some things we need to talk about,” Sirius said, “but you’re a Marauder now, our friend, and short of betraying us, you’re a member for life.”

 

“There’s no escaping it, I assure you. I tried once or twice in the early days.” Remus pretended to bemoan.

 

Gaara’s breath hitched, despite no tears forming in his eyes, and simply nodded his head, unsure what words he could say to respond to this display of trust.

 

“Tonight, why don’t you join us, Gaara? This might be your last change under a full moon. About time you experienced a Marauder full moon, right, Padfoot?”

 

“Right you are, Moony, my good man!” Sirius cheered. “So, it’s decided, we’ll all go to the woods tonight.”

 

“Decided?” Gaara questioned, unable to keep up with the conversation.

 

“I think it’s about lunchtime. Any chance you can eat anything without chundering it right back up?” Sirius asked crudely.

 

“Something dry, I would ask.” Remus politely responded.

 

“Kreacher!” Sirius called.

 

The house elf appeared and looked very upset to be in the company of Gaara again. “Yes, Master.” He simpered.

 

“Bring us some lunch. Something dry and easy for Remus, and something big for Gaara and I.”

 

Kreacher bowed and disappeared.

 

“So, now that the hard part’s out of the way, we can move onto more interesting subjects.” Remus said cheerily.

 

“Tell us more about your brother and your sister.” Sirius said.

 

“Temari and Kankuro?” Gaara had expected them to want to know about any number of things from his home world, like the nature of the demons, his past, the history of his world’s conflicts, the political structure of his village, anything but his siblings.

 

“Yeah. You said they were kind to you, I want to know more about them.”

 

Gaara mulled this over. How best to describe his brother and sister? “Kankuro wears makeup and dresses as a cat, and Temari is quite angry and tries to tell me what to do.”

 

“Wait, I thought Kankuro was your brother?” Sirius said, worrying that he had forgotten which was which already.

 

“He is, but he wears war paint.”

 

“And the cat thing?”

 

“A stage costume, in black. He’s a puppeteer and it helps him hide.”

 

“Hold on, so your brother is a puppeteer rather than a warrior like you?” Remus added.

 

“No, he is a warrior but he uses a life-sized puppet to fight. It is a specialty of my village.”

 

“So, you use sand and he uses puppets to fight.” Remus said, trying to imagine such a thing. “Dare I ask what your sister uses?”

 

“A large fan to produce wind.” Gaara stated.

 

“What about at home, though? Surely you all must get some time off every now and then. What do you like doing?”

 

“Temari likes flowers and training. Kankuro likes his puppets. He talks to them sometimes.” Gaara would be the first to admit he did not spend very much time with his siblings outside of training or missions. “We sometimes eat together.”

 

Sirius and Remus smiled at that.

 

“You’ve mentioned that you had a friend that helped you, who was he?” Sirius asked.

 

“He is like you,” Gaara said, nodding to Sirius, “and like Fred Weasley and George Weasley. Energetic and annoying, and liked to play pranks.”

 

Remus had always thought Gaara and Sirius’ acquaintance was the result of pure chance but it seemed that Gaara was drawn to annoying pranksters.

 

Never the most loquacious member of their group, Gaara failed to keep the conversation moving so it fell to Sirius once again to talk like a radio host. It was peculiar for Gaara, going from pariah and soon-to-be-exiled, to being right back in the middle of one of Sirius’ stories about an ill-conceived practical joke or attempts to woo some lost love.

 

Gaara lost some interest in the latter type of stories and his eyes started to wander.  As they had a number of times before, they landed on the Black family tree, filled with a millennium of Blacks all over the walls. It was a remarkable history, albeit futile apparently. There was only one Black left now, that Gaara had found, and he had been blasted off of the tree.

 

“I counted all of the disowned ones once.” Sirius said out of the blue. “About fifteen, including yours truly. Although, I’d wager I am the only one to ever take up as head of the family afterwards.” He smiled. It was a point of great satisfaction that Sirius was in charge of the nearly extinct family while actively supporting every cause his parents and ancestors reviled.

 

“You always said you were going to try and track down some of the disinherited and illegitimate lines one day.” Remus said.

 

“Never got around to it.” Sirius admitted. “I suppose I could do that now. I suspected, when I was younger, that my father hired somebody to go and kill the branches. Fanatical man.”

 

“And did he?” Remus asked.

 

“Probably not. Blacks stopped having bastards years ago. Fertility rates and all that. A blessing for a bona fide lothario like me.”

 

Gaara was unsure with what Sirius just said. Not just about the fertility rates, which did not seem like something that was supposed to be celebrated, but also about Sirius’ boasted playboy persona. As far as Gaara had seen since he had taken up residence with the man, Sirius had not attempted much less succeeded in finding a woman to copulate with. Gaara suspected this was another side effect of his imprisonment and long-term exposure to the dementors in Azkaban.

 

It was probably for the best, judging by the misadventures pursuing females Sirius like to relay.

 

“I was surprised that your mother never formally disinherited you.” Remus added.

 

“Oh, she tried. If I weren’t the last Black left, I wouldn’t have seen a penny from her. After Regulus got himself killed following You-Know-Who, no matter what that banshee wanted, the estate was to pass on to me. Old pureblood law.” He snorted into his drink.

 

Gaara had never been able to find out much about Regulus, as he was a sensitive subject for Sirius even now. One thing Sirius had said, though, a while back, was that he had always been disappointed in his brother’s choice to follow Voldemort. “I thought at one time that Regulus might even make it into Gryffindor like I did. My parents would have thrown themselves off a bridge if he had. Two Gryffindor sons. Regulus was a nice enough lad, when we were young, but he wanted to please our parents too much. It would have been perfect, though. You see, Regulus is the brightest star in the constellation Leo, the lion. Instead he was just another in a very long line of Black Slytherins, who followed a Dark Lord and got himself killed doing something evil.”

 

Gaara never saw fit to ask any more after that disclosure.

 

The three of them talked for hours longer. Sirius bemoaning his parents, Remus complaining about a new ache or pain, and describing one of the many jobs he had failed to hold down in the twelve years he had been on his own, and occasionally after prompting Gaara had piped up, divulging some small fact about his family or friend or some observation of his home.

 

At one point, Gaara admitted he had been disinherited by his father as a final parting shot. Kankuro and Temari had simply re-divided what Rasa had left them to include Gaara.

 

Sirius had tried to propose a toast to disappointing or hated sons but Gaara knew it was just a ruse to get him to drink alcohol.

 

As afternoon started turning to evening, Sirius had Kreacher pack them a picnic supper and changed into something to go to the woods in. Gaara hoped that when he was able to transform as an animagus rather than were-tanuki, he might be able to retain his clothing as Sirius did when he changed. It would be so much more convenient.

 

Apparition to the New Forest left Remus heaving onto the floor and Gaara gripping a close-by tree so re-centre himself. Hearing Sirius laughing nearby did nothing to make Remus or Gaara feel better. Sirius began setting up camp and Gaara followed suit. They did not bother with tents since none of them would be sleeping, but they did start a small fire and unfold some chairs.

 

They had a few hours until the sun set and anyone would need to change, so Sirius began cooking some sausages over the fire and feeding them all. Such responsibility would normally fall to Remus but he was in no fit state to be dealing with fire right now. And Gaara couldn’t cook.

 

As they ate, sparingly since Sirius had managed to burn most of the meat, Remus drank his Wolfsbane while Sirius made biting comments about having to buy it for his friend, attempting to be funny and still making Remus feel bad.

 

When the sun began to set, Sirius unwrapped the rest of the meat and left it on the ground, and began packing everything away. Meanwhile, Remus changed into a dressing gown since his wolf form, larger than his human one, tended to ruin his clothes when he changed. Ultimately, it was Gaara that changed first, simply shrinking down into his clothes and climbing out as a strange tanuki creature without making a sound.

 

Remus was sweating heavily, his change drawing near, but Sirius was perfectly fine as he stood up and slowly approached the freshly shifted boy.

 

He walked up to Gaara like he was some dangerous animal that might snap at him and at the last minute he reached forward. Gaara told himself that if Sirius tried petting him, he would bite him. Instead, Sirius smiled and balanced a dog treat on top of Gaara’s small snout.

 

Gaara missed his chance to bite since he was so shocked but the indignity. Of course, the small bone-shaped biscuit fell off his nose in short order as he tried to command his sand to attack Sirius but only ended up glaring and growling a little.

 

Despite the awful state he was in, Remus joined Sirius in laughing as hard as he ever had. The look on Gaara’s canine face was hilarious.

 

Gaara sat back on his tail and waited. It was with a certain amount of sadistic satisfaction that he watched Remus double over in pain as his own transformation started. Sirius changed into Padfoot to watch, knowing Moony would attack any humans within sight or smelling distance as soon as he got his bearings.

 

Sirius stayed a respectable distance away from Gaara since he was still fiercely glaring at him, but both sat and watched the much more painful transition.

 

Once Moony was all changed and breathing heavily, he turned and found to familiar animals waiting for him.

 

Gaara was still wary of the werewolf, even if he wasn’t likely to attack him having drunk the Wolfsbane Potion.

 

All through the night they trio romped around the forest. Moony had a noticeable limp while Padfoot and Bandit got into a number of scraps as the former was too rambunctious and the latter was in a bad mood and trying to work through some issues.

 

The fights were still friendly and were broken up when Moony forgot about his injured front leg and joined in. Between them they also managed to stalk and take down a deer, which Moony was soothed by for the time it took to finish eating the thing. Padfoot had taken a couple cursory bites but Bandit stayed clear.

 

In the morning, Gaara was the first to change back, and unexpectedly too. This resulted in him having to dash away from the suddenly aggressive werewolf, while searching for where they had all stashed their clothes. Fortunately he was still a highly trained shinobi capable of evading a dumb animal, plus Padfoot ran interference whenever the wolf came too close to scratching or nicking the redhead with his teeth or claws.

 

When he was dressed again, he leapt into the trees and then led the wolf and dog on a final run around the woods, chasing him from the ground. When Remus finally switched back, he was in a very sorry state. The site of the curse on his upper arms was looking even worse than it had yesterday and was openly bleeding dark blood onto the forest floor.

 

As soon as the wolf was gone, Sirius changed back too and helped his barely conscious friend back to where his clothes were. Gaara leapt down and helped Sirius to carry Remus.

 

“You should train your body more. You are too weak.” Gaara observed as they finally got back to the campsite.

 

Sirius grumbled, straining to carry Remus after pulling an all-nighter but declining to respond. Before they helped Remus put his shirt back on, Gaara applied a field dressing to his arm to stop the bleeding. “He needs to go back to the hospital.”

 

“I know that, but they won’t accept him back until tomorrow. Idiots think there’s a chance he might wolf-out and start biting the nurses during the daytime. We’ll have to keep him breathing at my place until tomorrow.”

 

“Foolish.” Gaara muttered.

 

“Come on, we need to get him back.” Sirius said, taking hold of Remus’ hand and pulled out his wand.

 

“No. I will carry him back to London.” Gaara said. Sirius had, as always, questioned the necessity of bringing his gourd of sand with him.

 

“You’ll be seen. He’ll be okay from apparating.” Sirius said. The last thing they needed right now was the Ministry investigating Gaara for a breach of the Statute of Secrecy as well as the mess a few days ago.

 

Gaara felt confident he could avoid detection, but since Sirius did not look like he was looking to discuss it, he grabbed onto Sirius’ shoulder and prepared himself for the wizarding excuse for transportation.

 

When they touched down on the street outside of the house, Remus was groaning and his upper arm was bleeding freely through the bandages. Gaara rushed to his side and applied pressure while Sirius levitated him slowly up the steps. It was too early for pedestrians or residents to spot him, luckily, but he was more worried about how much blood was dripping onto the pavement at that moment.

 

They carried him up to Remus’ de facto bedroom and Sirius told Gaara to bring his first aid kit from the bathroom. He was rubbish at stitches but his healing spells were even worse. As he worked on the cursed area, he got a close look at the damage the spell had done to the flesh there. After apparating twice and transforming, it looked as bad as it had done when Remus first got hit.

 

Gaara had stepped back to watch since he was still unfamiliar with most first aid skills.

 

When the bleeding was stopped, Sirius wrapped it again and stepped back too, admiring his handiwork. “It won’t heal properly until they finish getting rid of whatever dark magic is in there, so this will have to suffice for the time being.”

 

Gaara felt anger welling up inside of him again for the man who did this to Remus until he remembered he had already fulfilled that vendetta. He would have to get some exercise to work out his aggression or risk it bubbling up later.

 

Sirius and Gaara left Remus to have a rest while they went and had some breakfast. Sirius went to have a nap since he wasn’t a young man anymore and needed his rest. Gaara waited until Sirius was gone and then snuck back into Remus’ room and sat by his bed, reading a new book.

 

Gaara’s animagus training was all but done at this point so it was time to refocus his research back on his original problem. It was disheartening to return to his old area since the longer he had looked, the less promising subjects were left for him to explore. Now he was onto an obscure branch of Arithmancy that was apparently known to affect barriers between the worlds. It was most likely referring to the afterlife or to the astral plane but long shots were all he had left.

 

Remus had, on occasion, tried to lend his expertise to Gaara’s plight, but they quickly exhausted his limited knowledge of the more arcane topics of magical research. Sirius had tapped out long before then, even. The two men meant well, and they tried to help however else they could but they were not experts on theoretical magic. In his desperation, Sirius had pledged his resources to track down any rare or expensive texts Gaara might need.

 

Gaara had no idea what the five books he had requested so far cost but he imagined they were significantly more than anything he might find on a Flourish & Blotts price tag.

 

In the afternoon, Gaara took a break and went downstairs to get some water. There on the side table sat a piece of post that hadn’t been there when they arrived earlier this morning. With Sirius and Remus asleep, and Gaara being the enemy, Kreacher had likely decided to wait until one of the adults awoke to notify them of a post owl having been and gone.

 

As he went to collect it, Sirius stumbled down the stairs, looking like a thirty-year-old man who had gotten scarcely five hours sleep after spending an entire night keeping a werewolf entertained and fighting a tanuki intermittently. He saw Gaara at the post tray and asked, “Anything for me?”

 

“No. Hogwarts for me.” Gaara said.

 

“Hogwarts?” Sirius questioned. Then it clicked, “Oh, it must be your results! Well, go on. Open it!” He cheered, descending the last few stairs to read over Gaara’s shoulder.

 

Gaara did not fully understand Sirius’ interest in his assessment results but it seemed harmless to oblige.

 

Inside were a front letter and two additional pieces. He skipped past the other two and went straight for the one he knew Sirius would not leave him alone until he had seen.

 

It read:

 

‘ _Pupil Name: Gaara ---_

_Year: 3 rd _

_House: Slytherin_

_Term: 1993-1994_

_End of Year Results: Theoretical/Practical_

_Astronomy: Outstanding / Acceptable_

_Care of Magical Creatures: Outstanding / Exceeds Expectations_

_Charms: Exceeds Expectations / Acceptable_

_Defence Against the Dark Arts: Exceeds Expectations / Acceptable_

_Divinations: Outstanding / Outstanding_

_Herbology: Outstanding / Exceeds Expectations_

_History of Magic: Outstanding / (N/A)_

_Potions: Acceptable / Acceptable_

_Transfigurations: Outstanding / Acceptable_

_If you wish to make any amendments to your choice of electives for next year, send an owl to your Head of House by no later than August 31 st._

_Professor McGonagall_

_Head of Gryffindor House_

_Deputy Headmistress’_

 Gaara read over the results. He had not failed any of his classes so everything appeared to be in order.

 

“You managed to pass Potions?!” Sirius couldn’t believe it, snatching the parchment out of Gaara’s distracted hands. “From what Moony was telling me, I thought for sure Snivellus would fail you!”

 

“I studied on my own and the exam was proctored by multiple professors. He did not have the choice.” Gaara said.

 

“I can’t believe Remus only gave you an Acceptable!” Sirius said, slapping the parchment for emphasis. “Your theory is great and all, but what’s the point of conspiring to commit felonies with your professors if they won’t at least bump up your grades.” Sirius frowned. “That was how I passed my Defence Against Dark Arts in second and third year, with two different professors.”

 

“I believe he may have graded me loosely already. I am not a proficient spellcaster.” Gaara admitted this freely. His first year of learning to use magic had been humbling.

 

The diminutive redhead was disinterested whereas Sirius was lighting up one of his celebratory cigars and smiling widely.

 

“I’m very proud of this, Gaara.” Sirius said, walking away with the grades. Gaara followed after wondering where Sirius was taking them since Remus likely wouldn’t be awake for a while.

 

He followed Sirius into the kitchen and in there he found him pinning the parchment to the twenty-year-old fridge, in pride of place. Gaara tried not to let the juvenile commendation bother him so he walked back out.

 

He read the other letters now that Sirius was distracted with his cigar and comically large glass of brandy. The front piece was a confirmation of continued attendance at Hogwarts, which he smirked at bitterly.

 

‘ _Dear Mr. Gaara,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to continue your studies into the fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all additional necessary books and equipment as well as your end of year examinations results._

_Term begins on 1 September._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress_ ’

 

After what Gaara assumed to be the formal and perhaps even automatically written portion of the letter came a postscript in a different handwriting.

 

‘ _P.S. I am afraid gourds and other large containers of magically imbued sand or liquids will no longer be permitted to be carried in the halls or into classes starting next term._

_With apologies,_

_Professor McGonagall_ ’

 

Gaara read over the note again and sighed. Mini-gourd it would have to be. He would keep full size in his room. He glanced over the required materials list and saw nothing he couldn’t retrieve in a quick visit to Diagon Alley. He would ask Sirius to collect his things for him in the next week. Hopefully Gaara would not be required to attend too.

 

Another owl appeared at the window and Gaara took the letter from it. Having seen dozens of such letters carried by the same impressive owl, Gaara knew exactly who it was from and took it straight to Sirius.

 

“Harry has sent you a letter.”

 

“Hedwig didn’t go for you, did she?” Sirius asked, concernedly looking at Gaara’s fingers.

 

Gaara glanced at them too and shook his head.

 

“Can you take Remus these potions?” Sirius asked absently, now balancing his cigar and brandy in one hand while holding out a vial and a small cruet for Gaara to exchange for the envelope.

 

Gaara nodded, making the swap, having no interest in Potter’s latest letter. He walked into Remus’ room and started to rouse Remus, who was still drowsy. As he helped the disorientated man swallow the tincture and potion, his mind wandered to last night. He had almost felt like he could control the transformation, as if he could stop it, but then he was a tanuki and it was too late. Still, he was sure he would be ready by next month.

 

Sirius read over the copied results Harry had sent as beamed with even more pride, slapping them onto the fridge right next to Gaara’s. It would stay there for many months to come.

 

Harry did not say much else in his letter, just that he was happy with most of his results and could live with the rest. He asked what Gaara had gotten at the end, which Sirius was encouraged by. Recently the animosity between Harry and Gaara had seemed to die down a little.

 

Sirius hoped they would be best buddies by the time Christmas rolled around.

 

Even more encouraging was that Harry had remembered to call him Padfoot, even if he had forgotten Gaara’s nickname.

 

Sirius took out his quill and paper and started his reply.

 

‘ _To Prongslet,_

_I am very proud of you. I would have said that even if you were a dunce, but you actually got amazing grades so I can honestly say I am overjoyed and immensely proud. Bandit did as well as can be hoped with his unfortunate tendencies with regard to spellcasting._

_Will you be continuing the same classes as last year? Bandit wants to switch both of his electives, I think._

_I hope you have been lavishing that bird of yours with affection and treats this summer with the workout she’s been getting. With the way she treats your poor old dogfather, I think she might unionise any day now._

_Your proud and handsome godfather,_

_Head of the Most Dusty and Inbred House of Black,_

_Lucky S.O.B.,_

_Padfoot_ ’

 

Sirius almost forgot to note down Gaara’s grades, so he did so on the back and sealed up an envelope. He pulled a piece of cooked bacon from the fridge and approached Hedwig with a hopeful smile. She took the bacon and still squawked at him threateningly.

 

The long-haired, unemployed ex-con probably should have asked Gaara before sending out a copy of his grades, but he didn’t imagine for a second Gaara would care in the slightest.

 

He went to Remus’ room but Gaara had cleared out, probably hidden in his bedroom again. Sirius wanted to go and bother him, but no matter his boredom he understood Gaara needed some space to process right now. They had been crowding him these past twenty-four hours and while it had been a necessary and positive experience, Gaara was a solitary person and needed to work things out in his own head.

 

Plus, when Gaara got stressed he found Sirius’ hijinks marginally less amusing.

 

He chatted with Moony when he regained consciousness for a few minutes at a time and ate his dinner in there too when Kreacher reminded him of the late hour.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

Early the next morning, as soon as it could rightly be called morning rather than night, Sirius drove Remus back to St. Mungo’s and shouted at every staff member he encountered until they admitted his friend. Of course they were still reluctant to let the known werewolf back in their doors and expressed this prejudice at every opportunity.

 

Merlin forbid they miss a chance to insult Remus!

 

Gaara _had_ wanted to come this time, probably to level a few threats at the healers himself, but Sirius said he could manage that on his own and that Remus would be fine and back home in a week at the most. That had been a guess but it had mollified the angry demon-host enough to leave the task to Sirius.

 

He stayed with Remus despite the snooty nurse’s insistence that he could leave his friend in their capable if ‘busy’ hands. He had ‘politely’ declined and watched as they helped him change into a hospital gown and took him to his protected room to perform their checks and pulled out the messy stitched Sirius had applied and tried to heal the offending wound.

 

Only when they had wrapped the cursed area in gauze and given him a cocktail of potions did Sirius feel it was okay to leave him to rest. He would be visiting at least once every day no matter how many scowls the nurses sent his way.

 

He would definitely be bringing Gaara next time. He had wanted to keep Gaara out of the re-admittance process since Gaara was a protective boy and might have taken the unfair treatment poorly.

 

He did not want to jump to believing that Gaara might do what he did to the Death Eater who hurt Remus, but he knew exposing the surprisingly sensitive teen to the open discrimination was risky. The risk would be lesser tomorrow.

 

Hopefully.

 

As a passing nurse scoffed at him, Sirius stopped caring about the risks.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

Gaara did not sulk but if he did he might have been sulking now. He had assured Sirius he would remain calm but evidently he would have to regain Sirius’ trust. With everything that had happened this past week, it seemed like a light penalty for his transgressions.

 

Still, he not-sulked.

 

He spent the morning tidying up the library and sorting his piles of notes. He was planning on requesting a switch from Divinations to Artithmancy since the smell in the Divinations tower still made him ill and he had spent a lot of time studying Arithmancy for his independent research.

 

If he wanted to switch, he would have to take a short test at the beginning of term to prove he would be able to keep up with the student who had already taken the class for a year. He felt confident he would be able to perform well on any theoretical test they could reasonably expect him to take in September. He just hoped there was no practical wandwork required, otherwise he might have to spend another year drinking (admittedly rather well brewed) tea in Hogwarts’ most pungent tower.

 

He would need to “ask Sirius’ permission” before he could reply to Professor McGonagall, not that this infantilisation would present any real problems beyond his continually wounded pride. Sirius would respect his decision and rubberstamp any academic choices he made.

 

As he often had, Gaara suspected this attention and supervision by Professor McGonagall was as a substitute for his Head of House. Whoever had decided Severus Snape would make a good teacher should probably have someone overseeing their everyday decision making.

 

Another owl arrived and Gaara went to collect it, expecting it to be the second letter from Potter today. He really would have to ask Sirius to install a letterbox or limit the owls to no more than two or three a day. When he saw it was neither Potter’s impressive owl nor Sirius’ dull one, he read over the address on the envelope. It was to ‘ _Mr. Sirius Orion Black_ ’, certainly not from Potter then. The return address was certainly not Privet Drive either, it was from the D.M.L.E.

 

Since this was going to be about him, Gaara ripped open the envelope. If Sirius was going to treat him like an unstable child, Gaara would do the same and check the man’s post.

 

‘ _Dear Mr. Black,_

_In accordance with the protocol outlined at the time of your interview on Friday 19 th August, the DMLE is exercising its prerogative to perform an inspection of your home and follow up with any remaining questions our interviewers might have for you and your ward, Gaara. As stipulated in department guidelines, you have twenty-four hours to prepare for this follow-up interview and inspection. _

_Our investigators will arrive at **13:00** on **Tuesday 23 rd August**._

_Please ensure both you and your ward are both present at your home during this period. If you have any objections, contact our office in a timely manner and they will be considered._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Amelia Bones_

_Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement_ ’

 

Gaara read back over the letter and glanced at the nearest clock. It was Tuesday today and the time was twelve-noon, meaning they had sent the letter with only an hour to prepare. The letter was dated yesterday, and Gaara was sure if they tried lodging any sort of complaint the Ministry would claim the owl had gotten lost for a day.

 

Same political tactics, different world.

 

Still, this presented the problems of Sirius being out and the house being a mess of dust and dark artefacts. The dust he could ignore, but all of the illegal items would need to be hidden away.

 

He ran to the library first and collected all of the books that even he knew were objectionable and stuffed them in any suitable hiding places he could think of. It was sad to see the shelves with so many obvious gaps on them, but even the Ministry wouldn’t be able to kick up a fuss over things that weren’t there.

 

After he had stashed the books, he moved from room to room, taking everything Sirius had warned him not to play with and put it in the attic or the room Sirius regularly reminded him he was forbidden to enter because it was filled with dark objects. Of course, this just left them with a room absolutely cluttered with illegal and suspect items, but they would just have to find a way of keeping the inspectors out of that one room.

 

Forty-five minutes Gaara ran about the house before the door opened downstairs and he dashed to inform Sirius. With the emergency in front of them, he was pretty sure Sirius wouldn’t begrudge him opening the man’s post. As quickly and succinctly as he could, Gaara informed the man of what the letter had said and how long they had left, and after only thirty second of profanity, Sirius jumped into action and picked out the things Gaara hadn’t noticed on his sweep of the house.

 

When they had collected most of the knickknacks from around the house and stuffed them into the _absolutely forbidden_ room, Sirius cast a spell and the door melted into the wall and Gaara believed one would never know there was a room there at all, if they had not seen it before.

 

“They might notice if they look closely so we’ll have to keep them moving around here.” Sirius said. “Where did you hide the books?”

 

Gaara said, “They won’t be found. I will move them back into the library later.”

 

Sirius stared for a moment but resolved to ask about it later.

 

The inspectors knocked on the door five minutes early, sending Sirius scurrying to the entryway and cursing again, this time at their uncharacteristic punctuality. He looked back, wondering whether he should have made Gaara dress up after all, but yanked the door open after a final insistent knock rang out.

 

“Good afternoon.” He declared with a flourish, smiling widely at the pair he held nothing but contempt for.

 

Gaara watched Sirius try to act casually and he almost wanted to smile at the failed attempt. Sirius has spent the last five minutes after finishing their stashing, pulling a comb through his tangled hair and working on his pristine beard. Gaara found Sirius’ preoccupation with his beard peculiar. It might have been disturbing if he had not watched his older brother spend hours before every mission touching up his “war paint”.

 

“Good afternoon, sir. Madam Bones should have informed you of our inspection today. We will need to look around your home before asking follow-up questions on the matters of your guardianship of…” He looked at a piece of parchment, “Gaara, and regarding the terrorist incident on the morning of August 19th. I am Auror Padley, this is Auror Unglestein.” He gestured to the taller Auror standing behind him on the doorstep.

 

“Unglestein?” Sirius repeated.

 

“It is Austrian.” Auror Unglestein said in a surprisingly posh English accent.

 

“Oh, well, very good.” Sirius blurted out nervously. “Come in, please.”

 

“We would like to perform our checks first, if you would not mind.” Unglestein said as he walked past Sirius and to the stairs. “We will start from the top down. You may wait here.”

 

“We won’t be long.” Padley added.

 

“No, I’ll show you around. It’s a big house and I wouldn’t want you getting lost.” Sirius strode forwards and slid onto the staircase before Unglestein could take his first step.

 

Gaara watched them walk upstairs and waited where he was. If Sirius didn’t return in ten minutes Gaara would go and provide back up.

 

Nine minutes later they clomped back down to the ground floor together and Sirius was not in chains so Gaara assumed they had not found the cornucopia of illegal and dangerous items.

 

“Of course, the department can’t afford to perform as many of these spot-checks as they would like, to keep everyone safe, but with such prominent cases such as yours and Gaara’s here, we might make an exception. It’s a publicity thing, you understand. Still, I shouldn’t worry about the inconvenience too much. They wouldn’t be too frequent, I don’t think. Certainly not if your notoriety decreases, sadly.” Auror Padley said.

 

“That is a shame,” Sirius said, “but as private citizens it is to be expected that we be overlooked from time to time like that.”

 

Gaara had listened to the entire veiled threat quietly. The implication was clear and desirable for both parties. Gaara would happily stay away from the limelight and Sirius would much rather find himself in the gossip rags rather than the front pages of the Daily Prophet yet again.

 

“Let’s all sit down and get this interview over with. I’m sure you both have more important duties to be getting back to.” Sirius said.

 

Both the Aurors were conspicuously quiet.

 

“Where are my things?” Gaara spoke up at last.

 

“Pardon?” Unglestein said as he turned back to the boy he had been ignoring.

 

“His gourd and his like knapsack thing.” Sirius said, unsure of how to describe Gaara bag other than as a weapons pouch.

 

Padley pulled out his notebook, into which he had been jotting countless notes as he toured around the house, and flipped to the first page. “Ah, yes I see, I’m afraid they were destroyed. Both items. It says here that the gourd disintegrated and the sand could not be recovered, and your pouch was destroyed by the Department of Mysteries as it was deemed to be of a dark nature. You have the Ministry’s apologies and can apply for compensation through the public liaisons office.”

 

What Padley had not been told was that the pouch had not been destroyed so much as a detection spell used by the D.o.P. had ignited whatever explosive had been stashed in there. The gourd had in fact been handled with extra care after the explosion and despite the precautions they took it had spontaneously broke apart after a couple days. The sand was now being carefully analysed for any residual magic.

 

“Typical.” Sirius muttered under his breath.

 

Gaara frowned but decided nothing would come of him speaking up about it. The gourd had already been replaced but that pouch had contained his only kunai and exploding tags. While complaining would not get him anywhere, he could still glare at the bearers of bad news.

 

“So, let us begin…” Unglestein prompted, pulling out his own notebook and pencil.

 

What followed was another tedious interview where leading questions were posed to both guardian and ward, and few if any real answers were given. They tried the same old questions nonetheless, especially wanting to know where Gaara came from and what his second name was since no one believed him when he said he didn’t have one.

 

Surely it wasn’t such a strange thing. It wasn’t as if Gaara was a common name, and he was pretty easy to distinguish from amongst a crowd.

 

Sirius had helped Gaara with evading his questions and Gaara tried to reciprocate, though his radar for nuance was not quite as skilled as Sirius’. When it became clear to all that the only way the Auror pair would be getting any answers worth writing down would be with the liberal and illegal use of Veritaserum, they stood up and thanked their host for the tea they hadn’t drunk.

 

“Of course, and please do stop by as often as your department thinks is necessary. Also, please talk to Madam Bones about perhaps retiring her owl as it appears to be getting a bit old. The Ministry is only a few miles away and it took a whole day for it to get here. I don’t mind the lack of notice this time but if you would be so kind as to pass along my suggestion…”

 

“Of course, thank you for mentioning it.” Auror Padley said, appearing to be in a bit of a rush to leave now that his afternoon had conclusively been wasted.

 

They left and once Sirius slammed the door shut behind them, he practically collapsed with the weight removed from his chest.

 

“You are good at bluffing.” Gaara said from his seat, sipping on his water.

 

“Not as good as Remus. Used to steal half my pocket money at school during the monthly poker matches.” He smirked. “He even managed to fleece Slughorn once, which is why McGonagall banned all gambling on school grounds. Threatened to expel us when she found out we were still playing cards. I wonder if she’s still enforcing that rule so harshly?”

 

Gaara had never been one for games of chance so it had never been a pertinent problem. Plus, it wasn’t like a silly moratorium would keep Gaara from doing what he wanted anyway.

 

“So, now that that’s over, where _did_ you hide those books?”

 

Gaara thought for a second and answered, “I found a servants passage upstairs…” He started.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

Arthur had picked Harry up early on Wednesday morning, aiming to drop him off at the Burrow so he could still make it to work in time. Even though Harry was excited to get back to his world, six seemed far too early to be doing anything during the summer holidays. Even Aunt Petunia never woke him up before eight. It was the one small mercy she could be relied upon to provide him.

 

“Well, I’m sorry I can’t stick around but there’s work to be done.” Arthur said in all good cheer before leaving again, flooing to the Ministry.

 

“Harry!” Molly bustled over, “Welcome back. Have you eaten yet?” She asked, already putting some toast under the grill for him.

 

No point in telling her he had already had cereal, especially when she had a dish of Irish butter and multiple jars of homemade jam on offer.

 

“Ron’s supposed to have gotten up by now.” Molly bemoaned, looking to the clock displaying seven a.m. She had roused her youngest boy and Hermione in Ginny’s room half an hour ago to be ready for Harry’s arrival, but so far none had come downstairs. Teenagers!

 

It was a few minutes later, as Harry was enjoying the full Weasley hospitality, that Ginny jogged down into the kitchen. As was customary, she still froze up in that first moment of seeing him and blushed bright red before ducking away again.

 

It was these routines that made his visits to the Burrow so comforting.

 

After Ginny had calmed down, she had returned to the kitchen and taken a chair as far away from Harry as she could, her milky complexion still stained scarlet, and mumbled a greeting to him. It was adorable, he thought.

 

Another ten minutes later, as Harry was feeling a little ill from being stuffed with toast (and a few freshly baked crumpets too), Hermione finally arrived, her hair still damp from the shower.

 

“Hello, Harry!” She smiled, running over to hug him.

 

“Morning.” He smiled back. “Where’s Ron?”

 

“Oh you know him!” She harrumphed and sat next to Ginny. “I just had to wake him up. Again!”

 

“Well, all the hot water will be gone by the time he does decides to get up.” Molly scoffed, setting a laden plate in front of Hermione, which she smiled at but did not rush to eat.

 

Harry knew the girls did not like to eat as much as the boys, he and Ron had observed as much during meals over the past year. Ron had a convoluted theory involving a reverse correlation to the size of certain assets but Harry just thought most of the boys in their House were gluttons. Including himself.

 

The rest of the Weasleys trickled down at a pace that would make molasses jealous. Ron came last, scowling and complaining that all of the hot water was gone when he had gone to take his shower, and now he was left with burnt toast!

 

Ron was happy to see Harry again and they immediately tried to jump into a discussion on Quidditch in the aftermath of the World Cup since the results were being contested and the trophy was being held hostage until an enquiry could be held.

 

“Honestly you two! You can go on and on about Quidditch tomorrow when I leave. Until then, please try to keep it to a minimum.”

 

The pair looked at each other, sighed, then Ron piped up, “Now that Wood’s gone, do you think I should try out for the Keeper position?”

 

“Ronald!” Hermione scolded him for ignoring her words completely.

 

“Come on Herm, I’m sure it couldn’t hurt for him to try out at least.” Harry defended his friend unknowingly. “Angelina Johnson’s taking over as captain so I don’t see why he shouldn’t go for it.”

 

Harry patted a hurt Ron on the shoulder and Hermione tried not to scream at her two best friends.

 

After breakfast was finished with and Molly had politely refused Harry’s habitual attempt to help with the dishes, before complaining that she had to do all the housework herself at her lazy children, the Trio retreated from the other Weasleys and went to Ron’s room. They had to skirt around the twins on the staircase who would only let them pass once Harry had assured them Sirius was going to ‘pay what he owed’.

 

When they were in the relative security of Ron’s small room, Hermione started right away, “So, come on, time to tell me; how did you do?”

 

Ron looked sheepish, presumably having avoided telling Hermione last night when she arrived. She turned her gaze on him so Harry conceded and pulled out the parchment he had stuffed in his pocket when he was packing, ready for the inevitable interrogation she would put them through.

 

He whipped out his results and she studied them intensely while Ron made a show of looking for his own sheet, having retrieved it from his mother who had wanted to keep it with all of the other mementos she collected from her children.

 

With Hermione’s set out on the floor with the other two, they were able to compare results. Hermione led the grades by a long stretch, except in the DADA practical exam where Harry had managed to achieve an Exceeds Expectation to her Outstanding. She tried not to let it get to her. Ron’s grades were ‘okay’, his words, but Hermione made sure to point out all of his deficiencies so he might improve himself.

 

He did not receive the words with the sentiment from which they were spoken.

 

After Hermione had made her unrealistic plans to help the boys study harder this coming year but before she could start drawing charts to cement those plans, Harry pulled out a fourth piece of parchment, this one handwritten.

 

“What’s that?” Ron said.

 

“They’re Gaara’s results. Sirius sent them to me.” He said, flattening the creased parchment on the floor and seeing how they stacked up against Hermione’s.

 

“Bloody hell, he managed to pass Potions!”

 

“I know. I wonder how he managed that. I thought Snape was going to kill him that one time.”

 

“Snape wouldn’t really hurt a student, Harry.” Hermione chided. “I knew Gaara was revising in his own time, but I didn’t think he could actually pass that way.” Hermione seemed to be having a spiritual crisis with the knowledge that classes were not wholly necessary even to pass classes.

 

“Wanna bet.” Ron snorted. “Did pretty well considering how rubbish he is at magic, though, don’t you think?”

 

“That’s what I thought. Plus he’s never studied magic before last year, apparently, other than his sand thing.”

 

“Probably just said that to get them to go easy on him.” Ron muttered.

 

“If that were true, Hermione and I would have gotten better results than you in our first year, since we came from muggle homes.”

 

“You did get better grades.” Ron said, perplexed.

 

“Harry!” Hermione slapped him on the arm but failed to conceal her smile fully.

 

Ron frowned and scooped up his results sheet.

 

“You could both do much better in History of Magic.” She said. Both boys had gotten Acceptables, and probably just scraped by to get them. They groaned and Ron threw a pillow at her making her shriek. A pillow fight ensued and Ron came out the victor, reclaiming some of his besmirched honour.

 

When they had calmed down marginally, Harry piped up, “Any guesses to who’s going to be teaching DADA?”

 

“Well, the pattern so far is You-Know-Who, crazy prat, and werewolf working with a mass murderer… I’m thinking the Loch Ness Monster for year four.” Ron said.

 

“He wasn’t working with a mass murderer, just a wrongly convicted mass murderer who escaped from an inescapable prison.” Harry smiled.

 

“You two should be more respectful. Professor Lupin was the best professor we’ve had.”

 

“Padfoot says I’m not allowed to call him ‘Professor Lupin’ any more. If I do he said he was going to have to ‘learn how to discipline an errant child’ or something like that. I have to call him Remus or Moony or sponger.”

 

“You can’t be serious, Harry!” Hermione was flabbergasted.

 

“Actually, I think you’ll find-”

 

Harry’s witty rejoinder borrowed from his godfather was interrupted by Hermione’s hand shooting out to cover his mouth. “Don’t finish that sentence, Harry James Potter!”

 

He swallowed his words.

 

“He’s nothing but a bad influence on you, you know that, right?” She said.

 

“He’ll be so happy to hear you said that.” Harry smiled.

 

“Just so long as you don’t start listening to Fred and George. Those two don’t half keep on about Sirius. They were annoying enough before.” Ron complained.

 

“So, come on, Herm, who do you think will be the next DADA liability?” Harry asked.

 

Hermione huffed but answered, “They will be the best qualified person for the job, obviously.”

 

“Because Quirrel and Lockhart were such brilliant picks.” Ron griped.

 

“Well, I’m sure they looked like the perfect candidates on paper.” She argued. “Anyway, Professor Dumbledore will have learned from those two so we should have a great teacher this year.”

 

“Not like he’s been doing the job for the last hundred years.” Ron said.

 

“Actually, he’s been teaching at Hogwarts since 1913 and became the headmaster in 1971.” Hermione said.

 

“Enough about DADA.” Harry mediated. “Hermione, what classes are you doing this year? I’m still not sure how you managed to keep up with all those classes last year.”

 

Hermione averted her eyes, “Well, I was managing my time very carefully and I did one during my lunch breaks.” She rattled the lies off quickly. “Anyway, Professor McGonagall wrote to tell me that I have to reduce my class load this year. I’m dropping Divinations and Ancient Runes.”

 

“Really? I would’ve thought you’d drop Care of Magical Creatures before Runes.” Ron said.

 

“I thought about it, but then I would miss Hagrid’s teaching. Besides that, Professor Babbling said I could still take the end of year tests with the other students so I just have to do what Gaara does and read in my own time.”

 

“So you’re just going to do the class anyway? You already spend all your time reading!” Ron exclaimed.

 

“It’s not _all_ my time, Ronald.”

 

“I wouldn’t joke, Ron. It’s us that are going to suffer. When it’s time to revise next year, Hermione’s going to be far too busy to help us with those brilliant revision guides she makes.”

 

Ron turned on Hermione, his eyes shining with unshed tears. He was just too pathetic to say no to at that moment. She sighed and started changing the study schedule in her head. Down to five hours sleep this year…

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

Cornelius sat in his office, the lamps having been doused and the blinds drawn to stop his secretaries and those eagerly awaiting his audience from seeing him stave off his impending panic attack. They had just held a sudden vote of ‘no confidence’ in the Wizengamot, a vote he had only be made aware of three hours ago thanks to one of his lingering loyal members. The vote had swung in his favour but it was far too narrow to take any comfort in.

 

If it were not for a handful of witches and wizards who were more afraid of change than any follies Cornelius might visit upon the country, he would have been removed from office this afternoon and a snap election held in the coming weeks to determine his hastily prepared successor.

 

Still, no matter his victory, the narrow result made one message abundantly clear: he was on thin ice and it was on the fickle or expensive whims of politicians that he kept his office.

 

In his three hours, he had tracked down and harangued all of his supposed supporters that he could find. He had made as many threats as he had promises, including a few strictly outside the purview of his job. One or two had alluded to Lucius’ hand in their persuasion away from Fudge’s cause but would not confirm anything.

 

It seemed Lucius was taking his dismissal from Cornelius’ confidence a tad personally.

 

The press had crucified him over the attack last week, and now they would all start up about who would take over the Ministry next, as if he was already out of the job. While they had taken the bait with regard to it being a terrorist incident and that the villains were outside of the Ministry, they had linked it to the dementor attack on Hogwarts, the year of terror caused by Black’s escape, and the escape, civilian capture and then ‘accidental’ Kissing of Peter Pettigrew. They were painting it as a systematic failure from the highest levels of the Ministry of Magic, the result of lacking leadership.

 

One article had even gone so far as to suggest the next Minister for Magic would need to be ready for the rise of a Dark Lord, with this resurgence in Death Eater activity! Poppycock!

 

At least that Gaara boy was behaving himself, along with the Black malcontent. A small mercy, but perhaps he could put that particular issue to the back of his mind. The inspection of the Black household had yielded little of interest but the Aurors’ observations indicated that despite his powers and the resulting dangers posed, Gaara was nothing more than an irrelevant teenager. So long as those two disappeared from his sight, he would leave them alone.

 

He was so close now to his salvation. He had to leak a few details to regain one or two vital votes but only to those wizards he knew would not be speaking about it to the press before the time came. When the story broke in a little over a week’s time, they could come out and say they knew all along and increase their public profile and perceived importance.

 

Ludo was due in his office soon to make the final plans and discuss the first wave of publicity efforts.

 

It was a sad fact that meeting Bagman was the highpoint of his day, between staving off impeachment and then beginning talks with the head of the Ministry Workers Union to prevent an incoming strike action from the maintenance workers in their buildings. Although, there was also the floo conference call with the Siberian and French Ministers and trying to mediate between those egomaniacs trying to encroach on Britain’s imminent good publicity. Finally he would be spending his evening and much of the night reviewing the draft budget to extend the Ministry’s line of credit with the goblins. If his venture did not end up being profitable, whoever did take Fudge’s job would find him or herself staring down the barrel of a fifth goblin rebellion.

 

In which case, Cornelius would be glad to retire and escape that mess. His successor would probably have to sell Wales to the goblins to stop another open war.

 

“Ludo Bagman is here for his one o’clock meeting, Minister.” Came the voice of his secretary.

 

Groaning, Fudge rose to his feet and rubbed his eyes, “Send him in, and bring us coffee in ten minutes.”

 

“Yes, Minister.”

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

Remus was enjoying the residual high of the last of the pain potions St. Mungo’s had sent him home with as he relaxed back in 12 Grimmauld Place. Sirius was out, dropping something off at the Burrow. He was “just popping out for five minutes” and had presumably “lost track of time” about two hours ago.

 

The recovering werewolf was still weak and his arm was throbbing even through the haze of analgesics. The scarring was pretty impressive, Sirius had assured him when he been taught to redress the wound at the hospital.

 

He had insisted that Gaara come down to join him instead of staying sequestered upstairs as per usual. However, with Remus’ injuries, they were rather limited in their activities, outside of Exploding Snap, Wizards Chess, or a discussion of DADA theory) but the adult was glad of the company and counted any time Gaara spent in the company of others as a success. No matter how bored the boy appeared to be.

 

Elsewhere, Sirius was enjoying the lively Weasley household while loudly complaining that he had forgotten his watch.

 

He had stepped away to conduct his small bit of business with the twins as soon as he arrived since they looked like they were about to start acting like loan sharks. As funny as that would have been to watch, Sirius knew Molly would spot them and put a stop to the whole transaction, which Sirius’ code of honour would not allow. Blacks always paid their debts, unless they were one of the many Blacks who were broke and had lived on credit awarded to the Black name.

 

For decades during the nineteenth century, it had been seen as terribly common to actually carry or use money. Sirius had tried that once, at a restaurant, but the waiter had threatened to call the Aurors so Sirius had to make his date pay. She found it less amusing than he did and entirely failed to appreciate the history lesson.

 

Sirius would have liked to heft a full chest of galleons to the twins but in the name of discretion he had stored the full five hundred coins in a magically enlarged pouch.

 

When the business was concluded, and the rest of the ginger family were suitably puzzled, Sirius then spirited Harry away to Ron’s room, kicking the indignant boy out of his own bedroom with an aristocratic wave of his hand.

 

As Sirius sat in the chair and Harry took the bed, they heard the clamour of Fred and George celebrating their winnings upstairs.

 

“How much did they win?” Harry asked, listening to what sounded like dozens or even hundreds of coins clattering on the floor above them.

 

“A gentleman never discusses money, Prongslet.” Sirius smiled. “I will say that it should be enough that they will be in a very good mood for the rest of your stay, I should think.”

 

“I think twenty galleons would have done that. How’s Remus doing, now that’s he’s back at home?”

 

“Well, he doesn’t actually live at my house but I can understand how you made that mistake since he never leaves.” Sirius laughed. “And he’s doing as well as can be expected. The curse sadly did nothing to fix his face, hitting his arm and all, but he’s in good spirits nonetheless. He dragged Gaara down for a game of Exploding Snap as I was leaving.”

 

“Hard to imagine Gaara playing that.” Harry said, thoughtful.

 

“Not as hard as you might think. Boy never flinches. I can’t play it with him anymore. Plus he has the reaction time of a cat.”

 

Harry laughed. “I hope you don’t mind, I showed Gaara’s results to Ron and Hermione when she was here. I think she was a little jealous of his results considering where he started. I _know_ that Ron’s jealous of his Potions results. Keeps suggesting he and I should ditch the lessons and do what Gaara does and avoid Snape.”

 

“I am always happy to encourage people to disrespect Snivellus but I wouldn’t recommend burning that bridge just yet. You’ve seen how much of a bookworm Gaara is. I don’t mean to be harsh, but I don’t think that it’s yours or Ronald’s specialty.”

 

Harry sighed but accepted the sad reality that he would be stuck with Snape for the time being, especially if he were to follow his dream and try joining the Auror program, which required Potions.

 

“How is Gaara doing?” Harry asked.

 

Sirius took a moment to consider the question, since Gaara was normally at best a sore subject and at worst Harry’s enemy. “He’s… well. Quiet as you would expect. Honestly, half the time I forget he can talk now.”

 

“Yeah, I can imagine. How did his voice get healed in the end, anyway?”

 

Sirius froze for a split second, his mind jumping back to what he now knew of Gaara’s nature. Of course, he quickly gave an excuse, “Finally got him on the right counter-curse.”

 

“It was a curse that made him mute? I thought he got cut across his throat?”

 

“Well, it was a cursed knife; stopped anyone from healing him until we found the right counter-curse. Horrible bit of magic, that.” He concluded.

 

“I guess it was. I’m glad you found it. Who did it? I mean, who cut his neck and cursed him? Was it anything to do with what happened at the World Cup finals, the terrorist attack?” Harry did not like manipulating Sirius, but he needed answers about that night and what part Gaara had played in it.

 

“No, that was a completely unrelated thing. The so-called terrorist attack was a Death Eater raid. Used to happen all the time during the war but we just called them attacks. I suppose if you call it a ‘terrorist incident’ it sounds less common.”

 

Harry mutely nodded, always receptive to lessons and stories concerning the war from his godfather.

 

“What exactly did Gaara do that night?” When subtlety failed a frontal assault was needed. The Gryffindor style of diplomacy.

 

Sirius frowned, “Because of where he comes from, Gaara knows how to fight. He thought he needed to join the battle to help Remus, Arthur and I. He was wrong to do that.”

 

“Where _does_ he come from? He’s never said and we all want to know, to get to know him better.”

 

“He comes from far away. You don’t need to worry about that. He just doesn’t like to talk about his past, other than to his close friends. If you and he become closer, he might open up. I don’t mind sharing his results but I can’t break his trust and share things he would prefer left unsaid. You understand, right?”

 

“Of course!” Harry all but blurted out, afraid he had overstepped the mark and upset Sirius.

 

“Not to worry.”

 

“So, you and he aren’t in any trouble with the Ministry? You mentioned that inspection but you didn’t say why they needed to do one. Ron said no one needed to talk to his dad afterwards.”

 

“I suspect if they wanted to speak with Arthur, they would call a meeting in the Ministry where he works. But no, there’s no trouble. We got into a fight, Gaara and I, and they just wanted to make sure we were okay and that Gaara was not upset. As a rule, teenagers aren’t supposed to run towards battles, much less fighting in them.”

 

“Did he hurt someone?” Harry pressed on.

 

Sirius sighed heavily. “Gaara was only trying to protect Moony and I, and the people he hurt were bad people. I don’t think we should be talking about this anymore. The Ministry concluded that everything we did was justified and the matter is closed. Try to forget about it.”

 

Harry pretended to agree.

 

After their serious chat, they moved on to a game of Quidditch in the back garden with most of the Weasley family present taking part, minus Mrs Weasley. The teams were divided with Harry, Sirius and Ron versus Fred, George and Ginny. Percy was busy at the Ministry with his internship but the other Weasley children decided to try to enjoy the afternoon without him.

 

Understandably Harry, Sirius and Ron won the first match so they switched up the teams several times.

 

After Sirius left, promising to visit Arthur and Molly sometime when the children were away, Harry dragged Ron away unceremoniously to share what Sirius had told him. This time it did not occur to him that he was breaching his godfather’s confidence when he recounted what had been said, about Gaara having fought and hurt Death Eaters but that the Ministry was not upset over it.

 

“Sounds like it’s what we thought. Gaara went and joined the adults. If one of his levitation charms managed to knock out a couple of those blighters, good to him.”

 

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m over thinking it. It’s just…” Harry hesitated, “We saw what Gaara was capable of against those dementors, if he used that power against people… I’m just glad no one was killed.”

 

“Well, they… Dad wasn’t supposed to tell us, and I only overheard him telling Percy so that he didn’t let it slip to Fred and George, but apparently a couple Death Eaters _were_ killed. It was a few, maybe two or three, but two of them were killed by one person and Dad definitely didn’t want Percy spreading who that was.”

 

“You think Gaara killed two Death Eaters? By himself?”

 

“Not by himself, but if he was fighting with Dad and Sirius and Professor Lupin and the others there, maybe he got a couple lucky shots in, you know?”

 

“What else did your Dad say?”

 

“Not much, mostly about the Ministry being in a fuss at the time, and that they were ruled self-defence. No one’s fault.”

 

“Sirius said the Ministry weren’t pursuing him and Gaara for hurting Death Eaters during the fight!” Harry’s whispered excitement lasted only as long as his train of thought let it and then he realised what he was suggesting.

 

“We have to tell Hermione about this!” Ron replied, still riding the high of discovering the conspiracy.

 

“Let’s wait till we see her next. I don’t want to send this sort of thing by owl.” Harry replied before going over to soothe Hedwig’s ruffled feathers. “You know I didn’t mean it like that, girl. I meant that the news should be given in person, not that you aren’t a perfect messenger.”

 

“Stop flirting with your owl, Harry.” Ron laughed.

 

Hedwig screeched and Ron flinched and stopped laughing.

 

At Grimmauld Place, Sirius relieved Gaara from duty and allowed him to return to his peaceful solitude. Remus had bored the poor boy half to death, which was feat considering Gaara’s chosen hobbies of meditating and spending days at a time reading six-hundred-year-old books on magical theory, often written in Middle English verse.

 

“I’ll see you back down here for dinner.” Sirius told him.

 

“No more junk food this week.” Gaara demanded. Sirius’ ambition to introduce Gaara to all the delights of this world had turned into a marathon of greasy and unhealthy foods that Sirius felt he ‘needed’ to try.

 

“But tonight’s doner kebabs!” Sirius yelled after him.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

On the last Saturday of the holiday, Gaara was due to visit the Malfoy household again for the day. Sleepovers were for muggles, children and poor people, according to Draco, so Gaara would stay for dinner and return with Sirius in the evening. It was just as well since Sirius would probably have tried even harder to put his foot down on the subject, if Gaara had proposed to stay the night.

 

As it was, Sirius had ended up loudly admonishing Gaara over the boy’s insistence that he stroll into ‘Death Eater central’ on his own, trying to order him to stay away from that house and refuse Lucius’ invitation. Sirius had even tried to write a refusal on Gaara’s behalf but redhead intercepted him and declared his steadfast intention to accept.

 

Sirius was surprised at Gaara’s determination to visit Draco but he still tried to convey the dangers of going to Malfoy Manor after what Gaara had done at the World Cup. Gaara calmly told him that Draco was alone in the Malfoy house too and Gaara would not abandon him.

 

Sirius went and punched a wall for twenty minutes by the sound of it, but he did not try to stop Gaara anymore. He was upset that he hadn’t been able to tell his fourteen-year-old ward what to do. He would need to work on his stern voice.

 

Maybe Snivellus would be willing to give him some tips if Sirius brought him some shampoo. Sirius smiled despite himself at that thought. He had pulled a similar joke in third year and it had been funny then too. Lily had threatened to curse him bald, but on balance it was worth it.

 

Snivellus never had used that shampoo.

 

Sirius had also relented when Gaara assured him he would be bringing his full gourd with him to the Malfoys.

 

If even one grain of sand was out of place when Gaara returned, Sirius would convene the Order himself and storm Malfoy Manor and burn it to the ground! When Sirius told Gaara this, he agreed and went back to his lunch.

 

Remus had agreed with Sirius’ sentiment but decided to stay out of the argument.

 

On Saturday, Sirius insisted on dropping Gaara off at the door just so he could glare at his cousin’s husband. He had planned to be invited in for a congenial cup of tea and then drag Lucius off to threaten him, instead he was waved off at the door like an expectant delivery driver waiting for a nonexistent tip.

 

“You may return for Gaara in the evening, after nine. Good afternoon.” Lucius had said before slamming the door in Sirius’ face.

 

So much for manners in the upper classes…

 

Gaara was led through the familiar and grand halls of the mansion to the enormous drawing room where Draco and Narcissa were waiting. Draco was clearly excited but was trying to suppress it in front of his parents, so he was hovering an inch over his seat and had a totally blank face.

 

The four of them exchanged proper greetings and pleasantries over tea, discussing their leisure activities since last they met and any mention of the World Cup was assiduously avoided. Anything straying towards anything substantive was quashed expertly.

 

Once the formal sit-down tea was done with, the boys were released to their own devices until lunch was to be served in an hour. Both walked briskly away to catch up properly and the adults watched them go like a pair of hawks.

 

“That went rather well, I thought.” Narcissa said the moment the door shut after them.

 

“As could be expected, considering. Care for something stronger than tea?” Lucius replied, moving over to the well-stocked drinks trolley.

 

Narcissa looked down at her diamond encrusted wristwatch and confirmed it was after midday. “Just a small one, I think. It was too early to be having tea so we might as well have a snifter before lunch too.”

 

“It couldn’t be helped, dear. The boys wanted to spend a full day together. Merlin knows why. They will be living together soon enough.”

 

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Lucius. I trust you were cordial with cousin Sirius when he dropped Gaara off.” She said.

 

“As cordial as I felt appropriate. I don’t think he was going to be inviting us to any parties either way, do you?”

 

“The sort of parties my cousin would throw would feel quite unfamiliar to us, I am afraid.” She tittered.

 

“It’s not him we need, anyway. Your _cousin_ can rot, but need I remind you of how precarious our position is at the moment? Securing Gaara’s loyalties to our position would be an enormous boon to us.”

 

“I want to leave the boys alone today, as much as we can. Gaara is clearly uncomfortable around adults but he made the effort to come here to see Draco. I don’t know that the friendship between Draco and Gaara is as profitable as we might like, but they are undoubtedly close. We would be best to try and improve our image in Gaara’s eyes on a personal level before propositioning him to our cause on an ideological level.”

 

“That’s a risky way to conduct this affair, you realise. We could waste months on making him warm to us only to reject the rightful world order in favour of his guardian’s beliefs. If he is indeed ruled by his personal bonds more than any more pragmatic ones his House might suggest, we will never win out against the man who is caring for him.”

 

“Perhaps…” She admitted, taking a sip of her gin and tonic.

 

“Our best chance is to make him see things from our point of view. After all, he and Draco are close, as you said, and Draco was raised in our world. Surely we can find some common ground from which to work on the boy.”

 

“I would like to think so, but you must remember that Sirius was raised by Uncle Orion and Aunt Walburga. Upbringing isn’t everything.”

 

Lucius scoffed. “This is all moot. We do not have the time for the safest approach. My patience and my waning influence with Cornelius is being turned by the old circle into signs of weakness and betrayal. Cornelius has my department under more pressure than ever and with those two oafs still missing, I have not had the requisite time needed to increase my presence amongst our old friends. Some are starting to question my protection of Gaara, especially after what he did to Grimes and Dagnes. Some of them understand the power I could be bringing over to our side, but most believe I am being sentimental.”

 

“Lucius, my love, I have heard you called a great many things but never a _sentimentalist_.” She chuckled. “But you are correct as usual. We might have been on the inside during the last war, but a new one is going to start soon and everyone is beginning to stake their places where they think things will end up. The Dark Lord has not returned to us yet but we may have to make our move before then.”

 

“That is more of a risk than I had anticipated taking.” Lucius frowned.

 

“Yes, well, you always were too cautious about these things. That is exactly what these upstarts are sensing, I fear. They want a commitment or a sign of your intentions before you’re forced to declare.”

 

“Precisely what I wanted to avoid. With what I sacrificed during the first war, you would think I could be granted some lenience.” Lucius took a swig of his whisky.

 

“Quite the opposite. You are expected to set the standard. If you don’t make your move, if you associate with known enemies, you will be judged more harshly than anyone else. There’s nothing else to be done about it, my dear.” She said.

 

“Hmm, you’re ability to always be right is the only reason I still hold any position of wealth or authority, you know that?” He smiled.

 

“Of course. Now, I may agree that we need to induct Gaara sooner rather than later, but do not forget what Draco confessed to me yesterday.”

 

“Yes, how can I forget? Still, I could not care less about Gaara’s personal grievances against me. You will have to take the vanguard position this time. If only Draco could be counted upon to do this himself.”

 

“With the changing times, it is a miracle Draco does not question our judgement more than he does. It would be dangerous to put so much pressure on his beliefs at the moment. When he has his Mark and is serving the Dark Lord personally, he will lose his doubts.” Narcissa chewed her olive.

 

“As countless young men have before him.” Lucius smiled.

 

Outside, the weather was uncharacteristically warm for so late in the season so the pair had taken a stroll around the grounds. They had been idly chatting as they walked but when Draco was sure they were away from prying eyes and ears, he abruptly changed the subject.

 

“Okay, spill it now, what happened that night? I left my tent and found you gone and two of my father’s friends unconscious on the ground.” Draco’s father, who _hadn’t been involved at all in any way whatsoever_ in the attack had alluded to Gaara’s involvement the day after. Draco had neglected to add to his question the minor detail that he had been the one to take off those men’s masks before the Aurors arrived, so they weren’t arrested as suspects.

 

Truth be told, Draco had been upset by being forcibly involved in Gaara’s violence and his father’s political activities (doubly so considering he wasn’t sure he even liked the Dark Lord’s ideas anymore), so he wanted answers.

 

“I did join the fight and I as arrested. They released me without charges.” Gaara was tired of discussing what had happened over a week ago. More importantly, he knew he would eventually have to disclose the full truth to Draco someday, to fully explain what he had done, but it was too soon after Remus and Sirius.

 

As they walked they had drawn a small following of peacocks and Gaara could hear the ruckus coming from the kennels they were approaching so he asked to see the Malfoy library’s new acquisitions.

 

“Sure, but what did you mean when you said you joined the fight?” Draco wanted the details his father had been too upset to share. Gaara had clearly done something he shouldn’t have and it was only because he had prevented to Death Eaters from being captured that he had been allowed back in the house.

 

“It’s not important. I can protect myself.”

 

In the library, Draco quietly asked how Gaara’s animagus training had been going.

 

“Well. I will be able to control my transformations by the next full moon.” Gaara replied, skimming through one of the interesting books Lucius had bought at auction.

 

“Luna’s going to be heartbroken to hear that. I think half the reason she’s your friend is because of how much she adores your other form.” He laughed. He had exchanged a single letter with her this summer and it had been largely on this topic, which he had indulged her in.

 

At that moment they heard a light knocking on the door and Narcissa let herself in. “I’m sorry to say that Lucius has been called into work for a few hours. Some crisis or another has demanded his immediate attention, so it will just be the three of us for lunch.”

 

“It’s nothing too serious, I trust, mother?”

 

“Nothing more than the usual incompetence, I’m sure.” She bemoaned, drawing them both out and towards the dining room. Gaara was reluctant to leave the interesting book there but Draco whispered that they would come back later.

 

“It’s lovely that you could join us today, Gaara. I do get so lonely when Lucius is called away and it’s only Draco and I here.” She smiled down at Gaara.

 

Draco stifled his embarrassment from his mother and looked down at his friend too. Gaara was quite a bit shorter than him so it felt strange knowing this height-impaired boy was strong enough to fight his father’s men.

 

The table was set more modestly than Gaara had seen it at previous luncheons, though this was a strictly relative observation. Whether this was because Lucius was gone or because of some unknowable seasonal shift, Gaara did not know, but he could guess where he was expected to sit so he took his seat.

 

Draco pulled the chair out for his mother which Gaara had seen Lucius do many times before. It was part of ‘chivalry’ or ‘chauvinism’, different people used different words, evidently. Gaara imagined trying to pull out the chair for his sister, the only woman he knew well, but he figured she would be as perplexed as he was, with added hostility.

 

It was a light lunch of cold meats and pâté with more small talk. Narcissa asked about Gaara’s other friends from school (the plural form was an exaggeration). She politely engaged them both on the subject of Luna Lovegood, which Draco did his best to keep positive. It was difficult to avoid any insults or funny stories regarding the scatterbrain. The hostess also asked after any friends Gaara had back home, which he dodged with practised ease.

 

Despite Draco’s well-founded fears that his mother was taking over for his father in their continued attempts to sway Gaara over to the Dark Lord’s service, she made no mention of politics or ‘taking sides’ or anything like that. As far as he could tell, she had totally forgotten how father had been insisting they treat Gaara.

 

For all of Draco’s inherent Slytherin prowess, he was still young and some nuances slipped by above his head. Gaara had been anticipating the same attempts at brainwashing, even with Lucius out of the house, so he had spotted a common thread in Narcissa’s comments and threads of conversation: she kept bringing up the past and tradition, how his family had been when he was younger, what he thought of Hogwarts’ founders, what his favourite history book was, his favourite period of history, the importance of different modes of passing down knowledge through the generations, the different lessons they had placed Draco in as a child to acclimate him to their world, what Narcissa’s and Lucius’ courtship had been like and their parents…

 

It was a fast paced chat that seemed breezy until Gaara had noticed this trend, that she was espousing the virtue of traditions and old values in spite of modern sensibilities. Also she kept the focus on friends and family and how one should prioritise such people over strangers.

 

It was brilliant, Gaara thought. He had witnessed a number of high level negotiations in the last few months he spent in his own world, and of what little Gaara noticed, Narcissa Malfoy née Black would have put a number of those ambassadors to shame with her tact and circumspection. It looked like Draco had not noticed at all, which was for the best.

 

Sadly, having discovered the scheme by some miracle, it was much less effective in persuading Gaara of anything but of the debating skills of the hostess.

 

He enjoyed the lunch, though.

 

After they had finished and Narcissa allowed the boys to leave again for a few hours, Gaara told Draco, “Your mother is very clever.”

 

“I know, I’m sorry about that. She was at the top of her class in Hogwarts, knows lots about Magical History.” He said. “I think she likes having someone to discuss it with. Father isn’t much for academics, unless it’s directly applicable to work.”

 

“And you use Magical History lessons to catch up on sleep or do homework for other lessons.” Gaara said.

 

Draco laughed but looked behind them to make sure his mother had not heard it.

 

“Have you been practicing on your broom this summer?” Gaara asked. He did not care about Quidditch (this he could not stress enough), but flying was the only exercise Draco could be counted on to perform without prompting.

 

“Yeah, I’ve been out most afternoons when the weather is fair. I would be out the other days too but Mother is afraid of me getting struck by lightning. Even when there’s no lightning or thunder. A rain cloud is too risky!” He complained.

 

Gaara considered this to be a sensible amount of caution since the only benefit would be an afternoon flying. It might be the only exercise Draco got but it was not worth slipping off a wet broom or getting struck by lightning.

 

As promised, they returned to the library so Draco could spend an hour of his valuable Saturday watching his best friend flicking through his father’s new books. He resorted to coughing loudly into his hand to get Gaara attention, to express his abject boredom and that they needed to find a new activity. This procedure had to be repeated four or five times before Gaara got the message, which before the redhead thought was only indicative of Draco coming down with a cold.

 

Draco showed Gaara the manor dungeon which he had been prohibited from showing Gaara before, when his father was there, since it was a terribly distasteful place and best left forgotten (until it was needed). Gaara was not as enthused as Draco thought he might be, perhaps because their House was in Hogwarts’ dungeons, or because Gaara had seen much worse dungeons back in Suna and they tended to have captives and prisoners in varying states of torture still hanging from the chains.

 

He did not share these thoughts with Draco, instead he opted to observe that this dungeon was pleasantly clean.

 

When evening came around and the pair were summoned downstairs by the dinner gong, Lucius had returned looking grim. Dinner was a less tactful repeat of lunch, with most of the conversation flowing by Gaara, though not from him. Lucius was less adept at pretending he did not dislike dealing with children than his wife, so he made more direct attempts at gauging his son’s guest’s positions without all of the clever misdirection and varied topics.

 

He asked, near the end of the third course (of four), whether Gaara would like to join Draco and he at a social gathering of Lucius’ old friends. It was posed entirely as a choice, with Lucius speaking of important contacts and connections he might gain and the many things otherwise he might learn, not obligating Gaara to come and thus not obfuscating any of the clear ramifications of attendance implied.

 

If Gaara agreed, he would be going to a Death Eater introductory meeting, but if he refused, he would be solidly rejecting the cause. Draco had definitely caught on to this one, but no matter how much sweat poured down his face, he could not speak up against his father’s plans here and now. Never in front of company, and hardly ever out of sight either.

 

“I am afraid I’m incredibly busy preparing for the coming school year this week so I cannot attend. I hope you both have a pleasant evening.” Gaara’s answer turned Draco’s skin white and muted Lucius for the remainder of the main course and the whole of dessert.

 

No one wished to add a further cheese course onto the meal so they retired to the drawing room with the adults planning to smoke.

 

“Mother told me last year that she would curse my tongue out if she ever caught me smoking. Said I would have to learn to live without speaking like you.” Draco whispered as they walked out of the dining room.

 

Draco smiled at that. Narcissa was an amusing woman.

 

“You two go on in, I think Gaara and I could use some fresh air before the after dinner lethargy takes hold.” Lucius said, smiling and ushering Narcissa and a reluctant son into the room.

 

“I thought we were being rather clear at dinner.” Gaara said. He felt no need to supplicate or show such British respect for the host now that Draco was out of earshot. They were both adults (in one way or another) and would talk as equals.

 

“Quite,” Lucius sneered. “However, I do not believe you are aware of the full ramifications of your refusal here and now. Soon, you will need to make your choice and pick a side in this war. You may either join the Dark Lord and achieve greatness you had never dreamed of and fight alongside Draco, or you can face him and join those muggle-loving fools. Or else you can run away and abandon your friend. The choice will be yours, and the deadline for deciding is fast approaching, you know that.”

 

“I gathered as much.”

 

“If you choose incorrectly, there will be no more mercy. I can only extend my hand in friendship so many times only to suffer having it slapped away, before I will assume where you stand. And if you chose to fight against us again, the Dark Lord will kill you, enchanted sand or none.”

 

Lucius seemed to have said his piece but before he could conclude their talk and leave, Gaara stopped him and reciprocated the sentiment. “Draco is not you. He sees things differently and will be allowed to make his own choices. If you stop him, if you do anything to harm Draco, I will kill you, Dark Lord or none.”

 

The vicious glare on Gaara’s face, similar to the one he had worn on the battlefield after the World Cup finals, drove home the message adequately.

 

Lucius almost snarled, his nose wrinkled so deeply, “Have it your way! Your guardian will be here to collect in ten minutes.” And that was that. Lucius had his answer now, no more mercy. He would maintain the ambiguity with his circle but he knew there would be no turning the redhead from his path.

 

They walked into the drawing room to find Narcissa holding a lit cigarette between her fingers, and Draco equally trying to appear like he had not simply been waiting for Lucius and Gaara to finish their chat and join them.

 

Conversation was sparse in those last ten minutes before Sirius was due. He had actually arrived fifteen minutes early to pick Gaara up but he had been turned away at the gate until the appointed time.

 

As Gaara was leaving, he shook Lucius’ hand and had to refrain from trying to crush it. Narcissa offered her hand to be kissed again, while Draco shook like his father. Shaking Draco’s hand was an awkward gesture, but it was better than the more familiar/informal hug, in Gaara’s eyes.

 

“I’ll see you on the train.” Gaara said as his parting words before snapping his eyes back to Lucius. He had every intention of following through on his words if Draco was hurt.

 

“Did you have a nice time?” Sirius asked when Gaara and he were alone.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

On Tuesday night, Harry, Ron and Hermione were sitting up late in Ron’s room, the female of their trio having come for another sleepover earlier that day and having snuck over from Ginny’s room for this private conference. Tomorrow Harry would go back to Sirius for a trip to Diagon Alley (along with Gaara) and then stay at Grimmauld Place for one last night of the summer before catching the train on Thursday morning. Hermione was going with the Weasleys to Diagon tomorrow, but it would be separate from Harry. He loved his friends and the Weasley family as a whole, but he wanted to cherish one last day (almost) alone with his godfather.

 

He was going to work out, over the coming quiet year, how to stay with Sirius fulltime next summer, or even for winter. Sirius had made claims that Harry would be coming to stay for Christmas, but he was uncertain whether or not they would be allowed.

 

Harry still had not clue as to why he needed permission to visit his father’s best friend as much as he wanted.

 

“You must be joking.” Hermione sighed.

 

“Come off it, Herm. You know he’s capable. You saw him take down those dementors!” Ron whispered, aware that his mother’s superhuman hearing would catch them if they spoke above a very particular volume.

 

“Says the boy who thought Gaara was You-Know-Who’s illegitimate child.” She retorted.

 

Ron blushed. “Well, we still have no proof he isn’t.”

 

“Face it, he might be a little strange but Gaara is not a monster. He doesn’t kill people. He doesn’t suck people’s blood during the night, no matter what those Ravenclaws were saying.”

 

“Never known a Ravenclaw to be wrong yet.” Ron said.

 

“They thought I was the Heir of Slytherin in second year.” Harry chimed in.

 

“Well, you _are_ a bit more snakey than we might like, but we’ve come to terms with your impairment, mate.” Ron laughed.

 

“I have to admit, I was wrong about him. I’ve talked to him a couple time at Sirius’ and he’s weird but he’s never attacked me or anything. He even told me about th…” He trailed off when he realised how much of a gossip he was becoming.

 

“Told you what? What did he tell you, Harry?” Hermione jumped on the nugget of truth.

 

“I was right, wasn’t I?!” Ron exclaimed, almost breaching the safe speaking volume.

 

“No, he’s not Voldemort’s- They’re not related, Ron.” Harry sputtered out. “He told me something about when he was younger, when he was wherever he comes from, but I don’t think I should tell anyone.”

 

“Wait, so has he told you where he comes from?” Hermione had been desperately curious about Gaara’s origins, devoting a few afternoons this summer to research his personal clothes and his other distinctive possessions and markings, trying to narrow down what cultures or countries he might come from, but then she realised his was probably a hidden magical community and would not be contained in any of her muggle books.

 

Sadly magical geography was almost nonexistent so trying her other books would have been fruitless.

 

“Go on, mate, you have to tell us. We’re not just anybody!” Ron said.

 

“Please, Harry. We’ll never find out what’s really going on unless you share it with us. We could help.” Hermione added.

 

“Well, I suppose as long as we don’t tell anybody else, it would be okay. But you can’t let Gaara know I told you.” Harry started.

 

“Because he’d kill you.” Ron interjected.

 

“No, he wouldn’t, Ron. Stop saying that!” Hermione said.

 

“Look, we were talking and I don’t remember how it came up,” Harry said, “but Gaara told me he killed his uncle when he was young.”

 

“Blimey! Really?” Ron said.

 

“How young, Harry?”

 

“I’m not sure, six or seven I think he said. Really young.” Harry answered.

 

“It must have been an accident.” Hermione said, brow creased thinking about Gaara blaming himself for an accident like that. It must have been devastating.

 

“Maybe, I’m not sure. He didn’t give me any details, but he said his family hated him and he did it to protect himself. I don’t know if he meant to kill him, but he seemed pretty sure he did.”

 

“Bloody hell…” Ron breathed out.

 

“Ron!” Hermione would not abide by Ron’s potty mouth. “It must have been an accident or at worst self-defence.”

 

“I don’t know about that. He wasn’t really defending himself when he took down all those dementors. Looked like he was enjoying it.” Ron said.

 

“Lay off, Ron. He acts strange but he’s not a bad guy, really, is he? He saved us, and everyone else, and he caught Pettigrew, and saved Sirius. It must have been self-defence, and if he _did_ hurt someone in the terrorist attack, it was probably because he had to. Remus was in the hospital for a week thanks to the fight. Gaara must have protected him.” Harry said.

 

“I never thought you’d be the one defending him.” Ron said.

 

“I’m with Harry,” Hermione said, “He was only a child.”

 

“That’s what he says, anyway. He still killed someone, and he probably killed a couple more people at the fight. That makes him a murderer in my books.” Ron argued.

 

“I killed Quirrel in first year. I suppose that makes me a murderer as well, then, doesn’t it?” Harry bit out.

 

“I don’t mean it like that, mate. Plus Quirrel had You-Know-Who on the back of his head. It doesn’t count.”

 

“You can’t keep blaming yourself for Professor Quirrel, Harry. Professor Dumbledore said the unicorn blood and possession would have been fatal for him anyway, remember. It’s not your fault!” Hermione laid her hand on Harry’s shoulder comfortingly.

 

“If you hadn’t done that hand thing, he would have got the stone and You-Know-Who would be walking around again.” Ron said.

 

“I guess you’re right.” Harry conceded, still unconvinced there was any difference between him killing Quirrel and Gaara killing his uncle or those Death Eaters. “Thank you for talking some sense into me.”

 

“I think we should call it a night. You’re leaving early with Sirius and we have to get ready for Diagon Alley, Ron.”

 

“Yeah, we should go to bed,” Ron agreed, “After one more game of chess.”

 

Harry laughed and sat back to let Hermione take a turn. If either of them had a chance at besting Ron, it would be her.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

Harry was due to arrive any minute with Sirius so Gaara hid away in his room as tradition dictated. He didn’t anticipate any conflict on the trip to come, but nonetheless Gaara wished to keep his interactions with the Boy-Who-Lived to a strict minimum. Plus it would give Sirius more uninterrupted time with his godson, which Gaara was happy to maximise.

 

It was a couple hours later that he heard a soft knock on his door from the scarce house elf, signalling it was time to set out. Wandering downstairs with his small gourd and not much else since he had no money to bring with him and Sirius seemed to take offence when Gaara brought a book with him on any outings.

 

Sirius and Harry were waiting for him, with Harry offering a courteous, perhaps even friendly, “Hi, Gaara.”

 

Gaara nodded and then proceeded to ignore him. Sirius noticed this snub but decided it was not an act of outright malice but rather disinterest. From his time as Gaara’s guardian, Sirius was becoming something of an expert on the behavioural patterns of the captive _Gaaracus_ _Maleficus_ , otherwise known as the common household Gaara.

 

“So, are you both ready?” Sirius asked, his excitement mounting. He had not been school shopping since his own final year and the Marauders had often discussed taking Harry and any of their other children to Diagon Alley when they got older. Lily had tried arguing that it should only be the parents accompanying the children but James had quietly assured them they could all come.

 

No other children had been forthcoming, for which Sirius had mocked Remus freely, but Harry and Gaara was suffice.

 

“I’ve been looking forward to this forever!” Sirius cheered, picking up his coin purse.

 

“You visited Diagon Alley last week.” Gaara commented.

 

“That was just to get a couple potions for Remus and some other stuff.” Sirius said. “We’re going school shopping!”

 

Harry’s wide smile mirrored Sirius’ enthusiasm, both unable to contain their joy at the thought of both Hogwarts and the pre-Hogwarts ritual.

 

“I remember my first trip to Diagon Alley. My father took me, as was the custom at the time, and I remember being shocked by all of the people not wearing robes. I’d never been allowed to go out in muggle London and of course my parents would never permit me to socialise with anyone less than four generations without ‘impurity’. It was wonderful though, even with my father constantly commenting on the scum and the mudbloods. I just thought it was strange that they were allowed to leave the house wearing just trousers, without any robes on.” Sirius laughed and Harry recalled his own first encounter with Diagon Alley, an opposite experience, seeing so many wizards.

 

They all left through the front door, climbing into the expensive car Sirius had pulled around to the front of the house. Sirius had taken Harry out in it a few times already, promising last time they would set aside an afternoon next summer to go to a racetrack somewhere and ‘really let her loose.’ Harry could not wait!

 

Gaara got into the back seat and let Harry ride shotgun. This was clearly an important day for the two of them and he was content to remain inconspicuous.

 

“Gaara, you’re being too quite. It’s a beautiful day and we’re going shopping. Smile a little, at least.” Sirius admonished, looking back at Gaara through his rear-view mirror. Gaara looked out the window instead, at the rain.

 

The drive through London was fun but ultimately more trouble than it was worth, according to Sirius, since there were no free parking spaces anywhere near the Leaky Cauldron and he was wearing the wrong shoes to be walking over a mile from where they did end up leaving the car.

 

Gaara wanted to tell Sirius that it would have been easier to floo there but since he hated magical transport and was fine with walking such a short distance, he kept his mouth shut. At least Harry was not complaining every four minutes about it. Gaara did not enjoy the rain much, though. They were all thoroughly soaked by the time they ducked into the grotty magical pub.

 

“Hold on!” Tom the barkeep shouted at them before they could leave the entryway. He flicked a heavy switch on the end of the bar, setting Gaara’s paranoid instincts on edge, before he felt his chilly clothes warm and the water in his hair instantly evaporate.

 

Magic did have its uses, even if none of those uses were getting from one place to another.

 

“So, anybody for a pint?” Sirius asked, smiling. Harry laughed but Gaara suspected Sirius was eagerly awaiting a positive answer to that question one of these years.

 

They headed straight to the back of the pub, seeing no one at the bar they recognised. Gaara did not remember the Alley very well, having refused all of Sirius’ invites to visit this summer. It was as colourful and busy and Gaara was sadly sure they would not be in any rush to get their shopping over and done with.

 

“So, where to first?” Sirius asked, enjoying the sight before him.

 

“I need to go to Gringott’s first.” Harry said, knowing the scarce sum he had left from his last visit would not last long today.

 

“Nonsense, I’m paying for everything!” Sirius declared.

 

“I can’t let you-”

 

“You’re not letting me. I’m not giving you any choice. I _want_ to pay for your things and I _am_ paying for your things. End of discussion.” Sirius was proud of himself for putting his foot down, even if it was so he could treat his godson.

 

Harry was still looking unsure about the charity but a glance at Gaara, who was also having his supplies purchased with the Black family fortune, helped. Gaara did not appear to be at all ashamed. Of course, one could not count on Gaara to react normally to anything, much less about something as mundane as money and pride, but still Harry felt bolstered by a shared debt.

 

To Gaara, it did not even occur to him to feel shame in this situation. For one, Sirius wasted money left and right and insisted on buying things for everyone; and for another, Gaara was unused to carrying money. All his life, either Yashamaru or his siblings had dealt with keeping Gaara fed and clothed, with a brief period in between where Rasa had appointed a jounin to have food delivered to Gaara’s apartment (who ended up becoming his jounin squad leader). Even after Gaara started going on missions and earning money for himself, his siblings had kept track of his personal finances. Just before he had come to this world, among his other domestic lessons, Kankuro had begun teaching him about money and how to handle it.

 

As Sirius withdrew enough money for all of them (several times over), he griped that Remus had been pestering him to hire an accountant to manage his significant assets before he managed to blow everything. He had gone on to say something longwinded about irresponsibility but Sirius had tuned out by then. He would talk to the goblins in a couple weeks and get them to make him money somehow.

 

He should probably ask Remus to repeat some of that conversation since he had no clue as to what an accountant was supposed to do for him.

 

“Where is Remus today?” Harry asked, more curious about which excuse Sirius would use than what Remus was really doing, since Moony always disappeared when Harry was visiting. He had worked out a while back that it was because of the custody agreement, whatever it stipulated specifically.

 

“He’s at a job interview, actually.” Sirius said, unaware that Remus was really painting his cottage to sell since he could save a fortune just moving in to Sirius’ house fulltime. Sirius wouldn’t notice anyway.

 

“Where?” Harry asked, now curious.

 

“Dunno. I’m sure he told me, but I was still a bit spaced out from his lecture about fiscal awareness.” Sirius laughed.

 

After the bank, they headed over to Flourish & Blotts, with Sirius telling Gaara to keep his purchases to a minimum since they would have to carry all of the books for the rest of the day. Gaara still ended up buying at least five books not on his reading list but he was confident he could carry them.

 

A few time during the following hours, Gaara was pretty sure he spotted a Weasley or three in the crowds, but was glad to have avoided them. Troublesome family, the lot of them.

 

Harry was busy observing his co-ward, wondering about Ron’s, Hermione’s and his suspicions. All he saw was how truly uncomfortable Gaara was in such a busy area, constantly looking around and keeping his back to walls whenever he could. It was bizarre, these two figures in his mind: the Gaara that slaughtered dementors and may or may not have killed Death Eaters, and then there was this Gaara who was scared of crowds and was awkward as hell in social situations. Murderous Gaara versus oblivious socially inept Gaara.

 

Sirius had noticed this difficulty too, painfully aware the fact that Gaara had not been in public since they found out about Gaara’s dangerous tenant. At this stage, he wasn’t worried that Gaara might flip and kill everyone around them, he was just concerned that Gaara was upset by being surrounded by so many people (almost all of whom were bigger than him) and all the noise. When it looked like Gaara was getting angry, Sirius took them to eat lunch where it was quieter.

 

After lunch they went to collect Potions ingredients. “Are you sure you even need the ingredients this year? Last year you managed to get by without even going to the lessons, so this year maybe you need another handicap like no ingredients, or maybe you’re not allowed to use a cauldron? What do you reckon, Harry?”

 

“Makes sense to me.” Harry laughed, looking at a confused Gaara.

 

Sirius relented and bought Gaara his supplies and they moved on to Madam Malkins.

 

“I do not need new clothes.” Gaara stated evenly. To his ongoing consternation, he had hardly grown at all this year, as far as he could tell, so his clothes, as long as they were not torn or otherwise damaged, would be suitable for the coming year as well.

 

“And you are getting them anyway.” Sirius said in stride, no giving in to Gaara’s indifference. “You’re getting new shoes as well.”

 

“My shoes are not worn out.”

 

“One more word, young man, and I’m buying you _two_ new sets of clothes _and_ dress robes too.” Sirius was getting really good at putting his foot down.

 

Harry openly laughed at this as he stepped in to the tailors. Earlier Sirius had tried to replace the Firebolt Gaara had _given away_ to the Slytherin Seeker of all people, but Gaara’s totally straight-faced reply had shut Sirius down and left Harry clutching his sides, “But I do not think Draco needs a second broom.”

 

The day’s shopping had gone remarkably well, with Sirius not even having to referee a pissing contest between his two favourite teenagers. They weren’t buddies by a long shot, but they had at least stayed out of each other’s way, so Sirius counted it as a resounding success.

 

Gaara had acquired all of the necessary supplies, and a few unnecessary ones, so he was satisfied.

 

Harry had had a great day, so he had no complaints.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

Harry was in his sparsely decorated bedroom in Grimmauld Place and had been for half an hour. Sirius had sent Gaara and him upstairs for a few minutes so he could set up some sort of surprise for them. Gaara had mutely followed the instruction and padded upstairs and into his room too, which Harry thought was perfect since this would provide the perfect chance to have a private and frank talk with him about the World Cup at last.

 

He knocked lightly on Gaara’s door, knowing the boy would have his head stuck in a book of some kind and not wanting to startle him. The door swung open and Gaara looked startled to find Harry standing there. He had thought Kreacher was relaying Sirius’ call to go downstairs so he had not expected to find Harry standing there.

 

Gaara looked at Harry and then down the hall to the stairs. Harry followed his gaze and put it together, “No, he hasn’t called for us yet. No idea what he’s up to. Do you mind if I come in and have a chat?”

 

Gaara let him pass into the room and then waited a moment, considering whether to follow or just leave Harry in there. He decided he might as well hear the Gryffindor out.

 

Harry took a seat and Gaara sat on the bed and waited.

 

“Um, I wanted to ask… about… what happened at the World Cup?” Harry asked.

 

Gaara stared, as he often did, but did eventually reply. “I helped Sirius and Remus fight.”

 

“I know that much but, it’s just… we’re stuck in each other’s lives and we’re going to be for a while, so we should get to know each other better. Something more happened that night and I want to know what it is.”

 

Gaara frowned, “It is not your business. You and your friends tried to sneak into my hospital room once because you wanted answers and now you are demanding more. You’re curiosity does not entitle you to answers.”

 

“It’s not just curiosity! Crazy things keep happening and we find out what and it’s usually bad. Voldemort attacked the school two years ago, and then again a year ago alongside a giant snake, and then last year Sirius was running about and Peter Pettigrew was hiding in my friend’s bed. Every time our investigating turns up something, it’s a big conspiracy. And then you showed up and we’re still trying to work out what’s going on.”

 

“I am not Voldemort nor am I affiliated with him.” Gaara could think of no better argument.

 

“It’s not just about him; we need to know because you’re obviously not just some exchange student. You don’t have a surname, and you won’t tell anyone where you’re from, and you can do all that stuff with your sand even though you didn’t know how to do any magic before you arrived last year?”

 

It had become increasingly difficult to ignore the fact that Gaara was not just another weird schoolmate, even in a magical school, he was something dangerous and entirely beyond the scope of the schoolyard.

 

“I don’t intend to divulge any more secrets to you. I have no interest in harming you or your friends.”

 

Gaara wasn’t sure if he appreciated Harry’s interest/suspicion of him, or if he resented Harry’s continued presumption.

 

“We will work it out eventually.” Harry warned.

 

“Quite probably,” Gaara conceded, “But that is a problem for another day.”

 

Harry stood up and walked to the door, feeling defeated, but stopped halfway. “Does Sirius know, or Remus?”

 

“They know everything.” Gaara admitted. He was sure in the belief that Sirius and Remus would not tell anyone what they knew.

 

Harry turned, surprised by that, but smiled. “If they know and decided you were okay then I’ll try to not bug you about it too much. We’ll still find out, though.”

 

“Probably. Then you can make your own conclusions.” Gaara said. He had been sure as could be that Sirius would reject him after finding out, so he was reserving judgement until Harry and his gang also worked it out. They might surprise him, or they would head the mob. One or the other.

 

Harry left him alone after that so Gaara assumed they could resume their avoidance of each other.

 

Another ten minutes later, as Harry was finishing sorting through his clothes to go in his trunk for the train tomorrow, he finally heard Sirius shouting from downstairs. He sprung up from his seat on the floor and practically ran for the stairs, eager to see what Sirius had in store. He caught a glance of Gaara also coming at a more sedate gait as the excited Lion flew down the stairs to the first floor.

 

There, he found not only Sirius but Remus as well waiting there. Harry ran straight up to his favourite ever professor and hugged him tightly.

 

Gaara arrived and asked, “What is the surprise?” He had not noticed Remus disappeared for the day.

 

“Don’t worry, Gaara, there’s more. Remus is just stopping by for a cup of sugar. I’ll get back to looking for where Kreacher has hidden the sugar in a bit. For now, we’re going to take a picture, all four of us.”

 

“Entirely his idea, I must add.” Remus said.

 

“The new and improved Marauders!” Sirius declared, pulling the antique-looking camera out from where he had set it after spending the better part of the last hour searching for it and putting it back together.

 

Harry was as energised as Sirius was, whereas Gaara was still underwhelmed.

 

“Alright, everyone together.” Sirius said after setting up the tripod. “Closer than that.” He looked pointedly at Gaara who was off to the side.

 

When the other three were together in the frame, Sirius pressed a button and ran to stand with them, settling in place as the timer buzzed away. “Now, everyone smile!” He yelled.

 

The camera flashed and left them all temporarily blinded. Sirius walked back over to the camera and fiddled about with something Gaara could not see but came away with a thin, photo-shaped wooden box which he promised would be developed soon, and he would send to them copies at school.

 

They sat around downstairs for a while that evening, with Remus getting Harry and Gaara to promise they would try to avoid trouble this year. The moment Remus stepped out of the room to go to the toilets, Sirius made them promise to ignore Remus’ promise. Gaara had nodded both times, his mind elsewhere.

 

The evening was lively and jovial and Sirius never wanted it to end, but the hour grew late and Remus had to leave and the boys needed to go to bed, in Gaara’s case to continue reading and maybe pack his possessions in his expanded trunk sometime in the early morning. Sirius had stayed up late that night, wishing he had a little more time before Gaara and Harry would have to leave.

 

Early the next morning, Sirius went upstairs and loudly woke his wards, or rather rudely woke Harry and startled Gaara who had been finishing his transfer of a quarter of the Black family library into his cavernous trunk. Gaara was confident Sirius would never notice the missing books since the only reason the man-child ever entered the library was to bother Gaara.

 

Harry stumbled out of his room looking tired and bedraggled, resenting his godfather in that moment, who was still banging on Gaara’s door.

 

Harry yawned, “What time is it?”

 

“About six, I think.” Sirius smiled manically. He had gotten maybe three hours sleep and was running on coffee and Pepper-Up potions.

 

Harry looked towards Gaara’s door when it opened, hoping the moody Slytherin would be able to put Sirius down sufficiently so they might get at least another hour to sleep. Instead, Gaara stepped out fully dressed, looking as awake and aware as he ever did. With those ringed eyes, spotting bags under them was impossible, Harry thought.

 

Sirius smirked noticing the hope drain from Harry’s blurry eyes. Gaara’s insomnia finally had a use.

 

“Let’s get some breakfast!” He said unnecessarily loudly, winding his arm around Harry’s shoulder and guiding him back out when the tired boy tried ducking back into his room.

 

“It’s too early.” Harry moaned.

 

“Come now, it’s not that early. Gaara’s probably been up for hours.” Sirius reasoned, leading them to the stairs.

 

“Days.” Gaara clarified, quietly.

 

Breakfast was on the table when they got to the kitchen. Harry fell back into his chair and focussed entirely on keeping his face from smacking into the tabletop. “Can I get some coffee?”

 

Sirius thought for a moment, “Gaara, is it responsible to let a fourteen year old drink coffee?”

 

“In moderation.” Gaara replied with no recognition of the irony inherent to the question. Harry was too drowsy to see it either.

 

Sirius smiled and poured Harry a mug of coffee and then slid the milk and sugar to him. Gaara asked for tea but Sirius insisted he drink orange juice in the morning. “I know it’s an American tradition but it’s got lots of vitamin C so no complaining.”

 

Gaara sighed. Even if he had not been asleep, it was too early in the morning to be put through Sirius’ excruciating attempts at responsible parenting.

 

Just as Sirius was piling his bacon and eggs onto a piece of toast, they heard a tapping at the window.

 

“It’s early for the post.” Gaara observed.

 

“I bet I know who it’s from.” Sirius groaned, collecting the letter and shooing the owl away without even a scrap of bacon. “Bloody Rita Skeeter. Been hounding me for weeks about an interview.”

 

“Why not just do it and get her to leave you alone? Not like you did anything worth hiding.” Harry said, his mind working at restricted but functioning capacity.

 

“You should read some of her articles.” Sirius warned. “On second thought, I can’t in good conscience recommend an impressionable mind expose themselves to such spurious rubbish.”

 

“She lies?” Harry could not believe they were allowed to lie in a newspaper. Surely there were rules against that sort of thing.

 

“Habitually. I would tell her the innocent truth and would be public enemy number one by the end of the day, or a laughing stock. Either way, never trust a reporter, and definitely never trust tabloid writers like Skeeter.”

 

“Noted.” Harry said, spearing some bacon from Gaara’s plate when he wasn’t looking. Gaara looked back at his plate and tried to work out why it looked wrong. Sirius snickered but kept quiet.

 

“She spent two days camped outside my front door last week, trying to ambush me and find out ‘my side of the story.’” Sirius said, even doing a smarmy impression at the end.

 

“She was?” Gaara asked.

 

“Yeah but you didn’t go outside those days. I just ignored her and she went away eventually.”

 

“Should have turned into Padfoot and scared her off, or sent Remus out there.” Harry snickered.

 

Sirius chuckled a little but straightened up, “That might seem like a great idea at the time, and I will keep those two in mind for the future, but you can’t go playing around with journalists, Harry. They will only write worse about you because of it. ‘Sirius Black Sets Dog on Reporter’ or worse, ‘Sirius Black Sets Werewolf on Reporter.’ That second one would probably get both Remus and I locked up.”

 

Harry’s eyes were wide.

 

“Just stay away from them, Pongslet, you too Bandit.” Sirius said. Gaara nodded, confident he could blank any journalists trying to wheedle answers out of him.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

The drive to the station was quiet, being on a weekday midmorning, so Sirius kept taking his eyes off the road to spout out last minute pieces of dubious advice to his two teenage charges. Harry and Gaara accepted what he said so he would refocus on the road every time.

 

They parked up and the boys went and got trolleys for their trunks. Harry was always careful transporting Hedwig when she was in her cage since she didn’t like being cooped up in it.

 

“I still say I should have got you an owl.” Sirius said.

 

“I don’t need any pets.” Gaara replied, having told Sirius this at least a dozen times, but secretly anxious to get back and see how Fluffy had gotten on without him for a month. Hagrid could be absentminded.

 

“He can use one of the Hogwarts owls if he needs to.” Harry defended Gaara, having experienced the pressures of Sirius’ generosity.

 

King’s Cross station was busy, as was to be expected, and a conspicuous number of the inconspicuous witches and wizards were staring openly at Gaara, Sirius and Harry. The notorious trio tried to ignore the plainly dressed magical folk who were all taking their turns walking through the barrier to platform 9¾ one by one. Since standing in an orderly line would arouse even muggle suspicions, they had to work their way around the station in a rough formation so no one would notice.

 

Harry had always arrived at the last minute with the Weasleys so the line had been nonexistent.

 

“Of course, some people just skip the line, and muggleborns can walk right on through since they don’t know about the rules.” Sirius said bitterly. They could have flooed to the platform directly but Gaara’s aversion to magical travel superseded Sirius’ wisdom apparently, so they had to take the slow route.

 

“How do you know when to move forward?” Harry asked, trying to work out where the next family were standing.

 

“Normally they don’t keep looking at you, but the line runs along this platform here, and then over to number 6, and then to 9. And the best way to work it out is to look for trunks. People who have trunks, or owls, or both and no fashion sense whatsoever, are wizards. Keep an eye on them and if they don’t move after three minutes, assume they’re just unfashionable muggles and move forward. We’ll be at the portal in twenty minutes at most.” Sirius said.

 

“That seems unnecessarily complicated…” Harry remarked, looking around again.

 

“Well, it was made up by a handful of Hogwarts parents about five years after they started using King’s Cross, since they kept having to obliviate upset muggles.” Sirius said. “That was about 1860, I think. My father used to say that a better solution would have been to exterminate the uppity muggle rather than put us through the trouble.”

 

Harry stayed quiet, as he often did when Sirius mentioned his atrocious parents. If anyone ever made the argument for muggle inferiority to Harry on the basis of his relatives, he would point them in the direction of Sirius’ family and feel totally vindicated in his beliefs of equality.

 

Sirius guided Gaara and Harry along the ridiculous path that witches and wizards apparently followed to take their turns to get onto 9¾. If not for all of the staring, Harry would have been sure this was a prank Sirius was pulling on them.

 

When they did finally get to platform 9, Harry was eager to board the train at last. It paled in comparison to Gaara’s, of course, but Harry’s impatience was not inconsiderable.

 

Platform 9¾ was even busier than the muggle side of the station, with the entire width of the area cluttered with witches and wizards reluctant to let their precious children board the train and leave them for months. They walked through the crowds until they found a clear spot to say their goodbyes. As they had walked, a number had felt it acceptable to pat Gaara on the back and thank him, presumably for his actions at the end of the last term.

 

Harry grumbled on the other side of Sirius, resenting the lack of appreciation for the **two** times he had saved the school. The most he had ever gotten were a few apologies for insulting him earlier in the term for being the heir of Slytherin. As always it helped to see that Gaara was not enjoying the attention. He shivered every time someone clasped his shoulder warmly.

 

“Remember everything I told you, except all the wrong parts which I expect you to forget.” Sirius said, hugging Harry firmly. “School’s not all about the grades, although your mother would never forgive me for saying it was okay to slack off. Don’t fail, but have fun. I’ll see you soon, and don’t forget to owl me all the time.”

 

“I won’t.” Harry promised, “Try not to get into any trouble.”

 

Sirius laughed and cuffed him lightly over the back of the head. Harry had spotted the Weasleys so he went running for them.

 

“I know you don’t want to but…” Sirius pulled Gaara into an embrace to, holding on a little longer this time. “Be careful with your animagus transformations. The Ministry is out to get you and an unregistered animagus is a good excuse to arrest you.” He let go at last, brushing the creases out of Gaara’s robes.

 

“I know.” Gaara stated. “Don’t be alone. You need someone to stay with you, Remus or someone else.”

 

Sirius stared into Gaara’s eyes and blinked back a tear. “You’re too straight-faced to say things like that Gaara. Try to have some fun this year too. Don’t spend all your time reading. And I expected you to write to me too, or else I will orchestrate an unscheduled visit to the school again.”

 

Sirius looked to where Harry had been walking and spotted something troubling. Harry had just walked into Draco (or Draco had walked into Harry, depending on who you asked), and they were now glaring at one another.

 

“Watch where you’re going, _Potter_!” Draco hissed.

 

“You watch where _you’re_ going, Malfoy!” Harry bit back.

 

They both circled each other and then reluctantly turned away and continued in their respective directions.

 

Sirius turned back to Gaara who had watched the standoff as well. “I don’t suppose you know why they hate each other so much?” It was hard to believe it was because of Lucius or the usual Slytherin/Gryffindor rivalry since Draco had seemed like a nice enough boy since they met.

 

“He was a bigot and a snob and Harry is obnoxious and headstrong.” Gaara answered bluntly.

 

Sirius laughed loudly, slapping Gaara on the back. “Have a great year and do be careful.”

 

Gaara nodded back at him and walked to meet Draco, doing his best to avoid as many congratulatory interactions as he could.

 

“You ready to go?” Draco said as a greeting, turning straight towards the train.

 

“Yes.” Gaara liked brevity.

 

They stepped onto the train, Draco going first, and as Gaara climbed in after him, he noticed something. The throng of students vying to board after Gaara pushed him in after Draco, but the moment Gaara had noticed the skilfully concealed limp Draco was sporting, he knew exactly what he wanted to do next. Sadly, the people behind him kept Gaara moving forward into the train.

 

Gaara followed his friend to the nearest empty compartment and they settled in for the trip ahead. Looking out on to the platform, Gaara saw Lucius and Narcissa standing further apart than he had ever seen them stand in public, and Narcissa was looking less composed than normal. Gaara wanted to go out onto the platform and make good on his promise to kill Draco’s father, but even the oblivious assassin knew it would be better to wait until a more private moment.

 

The hundreds of parents and children, Lucius’ wife and child, and Sirius as witnesses would be pretty damning for him. Still, the time would come that Gaara would kill Lucius, of that he was sure.

 

He stared at Lucius until they made eye contact and the message was sent.

 

A few people tried to enter their compartment but Draco either told them to leave or Gaara held the door shut on them.

 

“They really should put locks on these doors.” Draco laughed confidently, content that Gaara had not noticed his limp, resulting from a couple of nasty-looking bruises.

 

Gaara nodded, sitting back down after the latest attempt to join them.

 

A few minutes later, a polite knock was heard and before Draco could shout one his increasingly rude dismissals, Gaara opened it for Luna to enter. She was smiling brightly. “Good morning, you two.”

 

“Good morning.” Draco said.

 

Gaara nodded.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

Harry, Ron, Hermione and the twins were all sat together, listening to Fred and George repeat the same pitch they had bored Ron with half a dozen times already that summer, explaining the plans for their joke shop to be built in Diagon Alley. They finished their impressive description with a complaint that their mother was not letting them start it up until they finished school. She had flatly refused to let Arthur co-sign a business loan with Gringotts until they were at least eighteen, and even then only for a small amount. They were going to have to look for a partner or an investor to make up their shortfall.

 

Harry enjoyed listening to their wacky ideas and inventions and their dream for the future.

 

“Did you find anything else out, about our _research project_?” Hermione asked quietly when the twins had finished.

 

It took Harry a few seconds to work out what she was referring to, and then frowned. “He’s an ass but we shouldn’t worry too much about him. Trust me.” Harry affirmed in a whisper.

 

“If you’re sure, mate.” Ron said softly, wondering why Harry was downplaying things now.

 

“So-”

 

“What’s this ‘research project’ you’re talking-”

 

“About?” Fred and George said in their infuriating twin speak.

 

“Um… nothing…?” Ron lied _so_ convincingly.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

Sirius sat in his chair and dropped his car keys on the table next to him. Remus was due back tomorrow morning after he had settled some unspecified business, but until then Sirius would have to sit in his silent house alone.

 

Reaching over to the same side table, he picked up a new photo that had been delivered while he was out, already set in an ornate silver frame. He would send Gaara and Harry copies tomorrow in the morning post. For now, he simply wanted to appreciate the picture.

 

Harry was stood in front of him and Gaara was in front of Remus, nearly five inches shorter than Harry next to him. It was a moving/wizarding picture and it showed Sirius running into the frame, them all trying to stay still, and then Sirius’ hand darting behind Gaara’s head to give him bunny ears. Everyone but Gaara smiling as the flash went off, the light reflecting off the three pairs of damp eyes.

 

Sirius lost track of time as he admired the scene playing out on repeat.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Omake:

“He’s not going to want to.” Remus said.

 

“It’s not about what he wants, it’s about what’s good for him.” Sirius argued back, carefully tying a balloon.

 

“And a party is good for him?” Remus said from across the room, trying to get the other end of the banner to stick to the wall.

 

“Of course it is. His birthday consisted of me giving him a joke gift and you indulging your irresponsible habit of daytime drinking. He should have a party.”

 

“It’s not a habit, Padfoot.”

 

“I think anybody that has to be carried home by teenagers because they got pissed in front of them at least has a bad habit. I was thinking of suggesting you join a program, to be honest, Moony.”

 

Remus sighed heavily, giving up on the Spell-O-Tape and pulling out his wand to use a sticking charm. “I will admit that was not my best moment as a teacher, but I knew Gaara was responsible enough to keep everyone safe. Which is not my endorsement for you trying to get him drunk next week at the World Cup.”

 

“You’re going to take the wallpaper off with that sticking charm.” Sirius said, blanking out that last part.

 

“And?”

 

“And nothing, just wondering what bright colour I should paint after I pull the rest of this mouldy paper down.”

 

“A nice friendly yellow, perhaps. I’m sure your mother would love it.”

 

“That’s always my first thought when I make decisions: WWMCMD – what would my crazy mother do?”

 

“So who is actually coming?” Remus asked, picking up an un-inflated balloon.

 

“Who do you think?”

 

“Draco?”

 

“Yep.” Sirius said, moving onto his fortieth balloon.

 

“Luna?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Anybody else?” Remus would not get into a race with Sirius about who could blow them up the fastest.

Sirius snorted, “No. He has two friends and he seems quite happy with them. Thought of asking Draco for some of their housemates’ names and addresses, but Gaara doesn’t seem to like any of them.”

 

“What about Harry? They seemed to be getting on better these days, right?”

 

“I think they’re just not at each other’s throats at the moment. Best not to force them to hang out too often. Besides, I only have a couple days left with Harry, I’m sure he would rather not spend one of them with Draco Malfoy.”

 

“Fair point. Reminded me of James and Snivellus, a bit actually, this past year. Cats and dogs.” Remus acknowledged they were definitely racing to blow up the balloons now.

 

“Snakes and lions, more like.” Sirius said.

 

“Except there’s no Lily to mediate this time. At least Harry isn’t much of a prankster and Draco wasn’t much of a…”

 

“Prat?”

 

“I suppose prat works. So it will just be you, me, Draco, and Luna Lovegood?”

 

“Yep.” Sirius said.

 

Remus wondered how many balloons they were going to inflate since the bag still had a lot in there and the drawing room floor was already covered. “Those two know about where Gaara comes from, right?”

 

“Yeah, he said so. Makes it a bit simpler, I think.”

 

“When are they due?” Remus was getting light-headed now.

 

“About two minutes ago, I think. I thought I heard them downstairs, actually.”

 

“What?” Remus jumped up from his seat but had to brace himself against the wing-back when his vision flickered from the sudden rush. “Gaara’s going to hear them!”

 

“No he won’t. I put a silencing spell outside his door about two hours ago so we wouldn’t need to worry. He could guess anyway, you know how he is, but we might get away with it.”

 

“That’s a smart idea. But why, then, did we have to sneak by his door when we were bringing down the decorations?”

 

“I forgot I put the spell up.” Sirius smiled.

 

“And you tell me off for daytime drinking.” Remus muttered, eyeing the half-empty glass at Sirius’ side.

 

“It’s my turn!” Sirius mocked outrage. “Anyway, I’m not sure how powerful my spell was so you should probably go and get those two before they shout too loudly and spoil the surprise.”

 

“Sure.” Remus ducked out the door, wary of spotting Gaara’s distinctive red hair as he went.

 

“Hello, welcome. Sorry no was here to welcome you, Sirius is… an idiot, really…” Remus sighed.

 

“Not to worry. I just thought I was early and that Draco was early too.” Luna said.

 

“I thought you and Mr. Black might be decorating.” Draco admitted, brushing the soot from the floo off of his fine robes.

 

“Draco, do me a favour, could you refer to him as Uncle Sirius today?” Remus asked. After Sirius got Harry to call Remus ‘The Wolfy Scrounger’ in his letters for a week, Remus had been trying to come up with some sort of revenge.

 

“Okay.” Draco seemed less sure but agreed. Technically they were cousins once removed.

 

“What should I call him?” Luna piped up.

 

“How about Lord Black?”

 

“Okay.” Luna said it with more excitement than Draco had.

 

“So where is Gaara now?” Draco asked.

 

“In his room but it’s been muffled so he doesn’t know anything.” Remus said, leading them up to the drawing room.

 

“And you’re sure he’s going to like this?” Draco continued.

 

“It’s just a small party, nothing fancy or crowded.” Remus said, suddenly wondering the same.

 

“I think he will like it.” Luna said, with a surety that could inspire confidence in nobody who knew her.

 

Stepping into the party room, Draco was less sure than ever, staring at the hundreds of balloons, the banner on the wall, the fairy lights, and the presents.

 

“I wasn’t aware we were expected to bring presents.” Draco worried, working out whether he would have enough time to go out and get something before the party actually commenced.

 

“Don’t worry. Mostly just a few expensive books, some new clothes, that sort of stuff. It’s not really a birthday or anything like that so I kept it simple.” Sirius said.

 

“After I persuaded you not to get him the dragon scale belt with the solid gold buckle.” Remus said.

 

Sirius grumbled while he finished setting up the last of the lights around the room.

 

“Thank you for inviting me.” Luna said.

 

“Yes, thank you, Uncle Sirius.” Draco said, trying out the assigned nickname.

 

Sirius spun around, unsure of whether Draco was actually playing a prank or if he genuinely thought it was a good idea to call him that. “You’re both very welcome. We couldn’t celebrate this without you two around, now, could we?”

 

“I think we’re all done here.” Remus observed the over-the-top decorations critically.

 

“Okay, you all stand away from the door. I’ll get the light.” Sirius waded through the balloons and turned off the lights once the other three had taken their places. He cracked open the door and shouted at the top of his lungs, “Gaara! Come here a minute!”

 

They all listened avidly, in the pitch darkness until, after several moments of nothing happening, Remus said wearily, “You forgot to take off the silencing spell, Sirius.”

 

Sirius laughed and undid the spell and repeated the undignified yelling.

 

They heard a door open and close and then nothing. Gaara made almost no noise as he walked so they prepared themselves to trigger.

 

The door creaked open slowly, Gaara wary of entering the darkened room.

 

“Surprise!” They all chorused as Sirius switched the lights back on, throwing wide their hands and sending Gaara jumping back into the hallway in a fright.

 

“Ha ha, we got him!” Sirius cheered.

 

Gaara peered back into the room, now that the lights were on, and saw Remus, Sirius, Draco and Luna standing in a pool of brightly coloured balloons.

 

“Happy anniversary, Gaara.” Sirius cheered and the other followed suit.

 

“Anniversary?” He asked, still trying to catch up with what was happening. There was a lot of visual sensory data to process.

 

“You came to this world about a year ago now and while I don’t remember the exact date,  we couldn’t let the opportunity for a party go to waste.” Sirius answered.

 

“It was all Lord Black’s idea. We all know you might be homesick but we’re glad you came to this world anyway and wanted to show you that.” Luna told him, missing the flat look of understanding and loathing Sirius shot Remus.

 

Gaara looked again at the decorations and lighting and presents and foods laid out, glanced behind at his exit and then stepped into the room. “Thank you.” He said quietly.


	4. Same Old Rough Starts

Gaara might not have liked most forms of magical transportation but when they took inspiration from their more sensible muggle cousins, there was the possibility they might actually make something safe to use. Case in point: the train that he was currently riding in that was showing him the entire length of Great Britain and did not necessitate him flying the entire, exhausting, five-hundred mile journey under his own power.

 

Luna watched Gaara as he watched the scenery pass by; he had not changed at all this summer, as far as she could see. Whereas Draco, on the other hand, who was sat next to her, looked tired and thin and he had been limping.

 

“Draco, why were you limping?” She asked out of nowhere.

 

Draco panicked suddenly, looking at both Luna and Gaara across from him, and tried to come up with a convincing excuse. “I, um, well, I ate my breakfast too quickly and it’s given me a terrible stitch in my side.”

 

He intently observed their faces, Gaara’s especially, and took the stoic, non-expression on the redhead’s as a good sign that he found it uninteresting and thus true. Luna did not have much of an expression either, which could have meant anything. Draco didn’t much care what she thought so long as she didn’t go sharing any theories with Gaara.

 

At that moment, as had happened a dozen times since they sat down together, Gaara jumped to his feet to hold the compartment door shut when someone tried to open it and join them. It was selfish but most of the teens in the compartment were indeed rather selfish, at least to the extent that they didn’t want their reunion to be interrupted by a stranger. Gaara was particularly opposed to their entrances since he had been on the receiving end of so much attention on the platform and in the train already.

 

When the attempted intruder gave up and walked further down the train, Gaara returned to his seat and continued watching the scenery. Across the roaming fields and rivers, Gaara really did quite like the countryside here. It was just a shame about the weather, changing between sunshine and downpours four or five times between London and the Scottish Highlands. 

 

They had all seen each other multiple times over the holidays and yet they were not entirely lacking in topics on which to catch up. Of course, Draco cared little about Luna’s comings and goings and Luna was much more interested in Gaara’s activities, as dry and dull as they were, than Draco’s comparatively busy schedule. Gaara would have been happy to sit in companionable silence and enjoy the view.

 

“I am looking forward to seeing your progress.” Luna said.

 

“I still can’t believe you managed it so quickly. Honestly, I half expected it to all go horribly wrong and you to end up stuck halfway between forms. Animagus magic is rather tricky, I’ve heard.” Draco smirked.

 

“I think Gaara would look dashing with a big bushy tail.” Luna said, retreating into her daydreams briefly.

 

“ _You_ would.” Draco snarked. Really, couldn’t Gaara have found a more normal friend, even from the (thus far) mysterious (to him) opposite sex?

 

“So when can you show us your transformation?” Luna asked, checking that the compartment blinds were still drawn in case the demonstration was to come immediately.

 

“Not yet. I am still finishing my training.” Gaara said.

 

Neither Draco nor Luna were able to determine with any surety whether Gaara was lying or not when he said he was not able to show them. They both suspected, as they often did, that Gaara was lying to them.

 

They all lapsed into a pleasant peace for a precious few minutes before Draco nervously broke the silence again, “Something’s happening at the school this year…” He started.

 

“Things do tend to happen at school.” Luna agreed.

 

Draco scowled at her interruption, or her manner, never sure if she was mocking him or not. “Not just anything. My father told me he has been hearing things recently. Whispers in the Ministry; secrets and the like.” When Luna’s eye shot wide and she looked like she was about to say something, he cut back in, “No, none of your ridiculous theories. He couldn’t find out what’s going on exactly but he said that the Minister himself is planning something.”

 

“Your father doesn’t know?” Gaara asked.

 

Draco blushed a little, very much unused to saying a word against his father’s omnipotence. He knew his father and the Minister had not been seeing eye to eye lately and that it was causing his parents a great deal of stress, but sharing such private details was beyond the confidence he shared with Luna and it was still best left unsaid with Gaara too. Airing dirty laundry was unbecoming.

 

Gaara knew he should be concerned about whatever craziness the leader of this country’s magical government had in store, considering the only previous plan he knew of was posting a thousand dementors around a castle of children; however, all he wanted to do right now was watch the view and worry about Sirius and Remus. Grown men they may be but Gaara was still more concerned about their wellbeing in his absence. All the stupidity that Sirius might get himself into, all the stupidity that Sirius might drag Remus into…

 

Down the train in a more boisterous compartment sat the Golden Trio and the Weasley Twins, two of Hogwarts most troublesome Gryffindor groups (currently). 

 

“Did you try asking Sirius or Professor Lupin about it?” Ron asked.

 

“No, I told Gaara I would leave him alone for a while, at least until I catch him up to something and I meant it.” Harry said.

 

“But at least we know there is something to find out now.” Hermione added. “I’m with Harry, I think we should wait and see.”

 

“He’s definitely up to no good, I can tell you that much, but we might as well wait until he slips up. Not like we’ve managed to find much out this past year anyway.” Ron said.

 

“We both think you’re obsessed with him, don’t we, Fred?” Said Fred.

 

“That we do, George. Gaara is an upstanding gentleman or impeccable taste.” Said George.

 

“We’re not obsessed, we’re just being vigilant.” Ron muttered back at his older brothers.

 

“I think we all need to focus on our schoolwork this year. No more distractions.” Hermione said.

 

“Distractions like you being petrified or being attacked by dementors, you mean?” Ron jibed. Hermione huffed and Harry laughed.

 

While the three fourth-years began to fret over the coming academic challenges of the year, Fred and George began to quietly plan their own activities for the year. They had every intention of starting a new pranking contest with Gaara and retaking their uncontested supremacy of the school. It was a ‘contest’ since neither of them felt safe calling it a prank ‘ _war_ ’.

 

“I overheard my dad telling my mum about a raid this morning.” Ron said after Fred and George went to find their friends, and they could talk in peace.

 

“This eaves-dropping is becoming a habit.” Harry smirked.

 

Ron blushed but continued. “Some old Auror got attacked in his home.”

 

“And your father was called? Why?” Hermione asked.

 

Ron had been so excited to hear that his father had been involved in something so exciting at work he didn’t think to question why he had been sent with the Aurors to investigate something that had nothing whatsoever to do with the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts. “I’m not sure. Dad seemed like he knew him, the Auror bloke, so maybe he asked to go with them.”

 

“So who attacked him? A dark wizard?” Harry asked.

 

“I don’t think so. I’m not sure, really. I had to stop listening because Ginny was coming and she always tells on me. Whoever it was, they got away.”

 

“Hold on, I remember reading about a supposed attack in the Prophet this morning. Apparently it was false alarm.”

 

“Dad definitely said it happened. Had to call the Healers in for the bloke who got attacked.”

 

“The Prophet lied?” Hermione was indignant that a trusted source of information would mislead the public like that.

 

“I doubt it’s the first time.” Harry said, thinking back to what he had read about himself in the few Wizarding History books that mentioned the end of the war and his role in it. A great many stories had been told about that night and Harry’s life after it and none of them had been close.

 

Hermione considered this for a moment before deciding to move the conversation on. “My mother and father bought a new dental drill...”

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

The train slowed to a halt in the station and already the corridor was cluttered with teens and preteens, all hustling and bustling to disembark the train. As previously, Gaara had no interest in pushing through the crowds, but clearly he was missing out on some vital factor that enthused all the other students around him. He simply didn’t see the fuss.

 

"It's a home away from home." Luna chimed in, responding to some subtle facial expression she had apparently interpreted. Draco wondered if her ability to work out what Gaara was thinking with even more unerring accuracy than him, who spent a great deal more time with Gaara, was because of her Ravenclaw intellect or her infamous strangeness making itself known.

 

"Only for people who have no home worth going back." Draco said haughtily with a smirk. As usual, his snark failed to solicit a response.

 

When the initial bulk of the student body had pushed and shoved their way off of the train, Gaara opened the compartment door and joined the last trickle of trepidatious first years and unimpressed seventh years. Back within sight of his schoolmates, Gaara again had to endure their well-meaning thanks and flattery until Draco and Luna kindly provided interference and blocked their attempts to engage or pat him on the back.

 

On the heaving platform, Draco had a terrible flashback to last year when he spotted a disparate few people amongst the crowd wearing thick eyeliner, mimicking Gaara's naturally ringed eyes. They reminded him of those fanatical weirdoes last year who had been obsessed with Gaara briefly before they found a new object to harass, or maybe they had taken up a hobby. These people seemed to be wearing the makeup as a fashion statement instead, though still likely inspired by the newly celebrated Defender of Hogwarts. Luckily the wearers mostly seemed to be from Hufflepuff so there was a chance Gaara might not notice them until they had a chance to rethink their ridiculous attempts at trendsetting.

 

When would these Hufflepuffs learn that they were not leaders? 

 

Draco and Gaara pushed through the crowd, ruing the day that Gaara had mysteriously become a celebrity after months of suspicion and fear (also known as the good old days), while Luna followed after them. Despite being around the same height now, Gaara was still able to force his way past people easier than her slight physique could manage.

 

It irked Gaara more than he would admit, more than his recent popularity, that the only group on the platform that were entirely shorter than him were the first years, though this might have been because the second years were largely dispersed.

 

They all took an empty carriage but had to wait for a fourth to join them for it to set off; meanwhile Draco asked about the thestrals hitched to the vehicle, curious about the invisible beasts. He was still surprised by the fact that Luna Lovegood could see them but had no polite means of finding out why that was, or rather who it had been.

 

An unfamiliar seventh-year Hufflepuff climbed into the carriage and they promptly set off, first having to endure his attempts to thank the miniscule hero.

 

“It was not a problem.” Gaara told him dismissively.

 

They then sat in silence for the rest of the way since they didn’t want to speak casually in front of a stranger, except for Luna who tried once or twice to pull one of them into a conversation, even the Hufflepuff boy. He was either too intimidated to speak candidly in front of Gaara who was definitely glaring at him, or he simply had no interest in talking with the spacey little Ravenclaw.

 

When they arrived and disembarked, Gaara had to skirt around the thestral bound to the carriage as he walked to the castle since his animal magnetism was still transmitting in full force. Draco watched the area that Gaara avoided and continued to ponder thestrals, especially after Luna approached the space but flinched back and followed closely after Gaara, presumably after the horse-like creature snapped at her or something. He traced the same path that Gaara had walked and they all finished their journey back to school.

 

“Looks like they finally decided to tidy this place up a little.” Draco said cooly upon stepping into the Entry Hall.

 

The stones looked like they had been polished, he spotted a couple of fresh tapestries that had been taken out of storage, the suits of armour were shining like they never had before, and similarly the Great Hall was looking improved. The stones had been polished to a high shine like the Entry Hall, the banners along the walls had been replaced by fine silk versions, and it even looked like the ancient tables and benches had been replaced by new furniture. The old, heavily worn tables that bore hundreds of carved initials and thousands of marks and dents had been swapped for pristine new ones.

 

For all the trouble it would be for a witch or wizard to magically repair or replace such simple items, those tables had been around for hundreds of years. The benches had been cast aside in favour of individual high-backed chairs, presumably precisely enough for the number of incoming students.

 

Gaara could hear people marvelling at how expensive all of this must have been, but reactions to the new seats divided opinion. The Ravenclaws and the Slytherins mostly liked them because they were more dignified and offered greater personal space, whereas the Gryffindors and particularly the Hufflepuffs weren’t such fans, having always enjoyed the informality and closeness the benches allowed.

 

Ron summed up his entire House’s opinion when he said, “Looks a bit pompous to me.”

 

The Slytherins promptly began vying for the best seats, collectively believing that the possibility that these would remain their assigned seats for the coming year was too important to leave up to chance. Draco pulled Gaara along with the eager Slytherins, not bothering to bid Luna adieu as she wandered over to her own more orderly House. She was less a pariah than in previous years, she observed, likely because of her apparent association with Gaara, Defender of Hogwarts. This reduced hostility did not extend itself to talking or friendliness, but fewer people were snickering at her and she had not ‘tripped’ once this evening.

 

McGonagall, who was waiting for the first years to arrive, believed this was the most prolonged seating the school had seen in all of her years working there. She could still hear squabbles breaking out and the scraping of chairs on stone through the door after it was closed and the new students were entering the castle with Hagrid.

 

Gaara was definitely in favour of the new arrangement, having always had difficulties with the benches and how close they necessitated sitting to another person. Here there were armrests to maintain correct distance.

 

The cutlery had also been replaced with silverware, which Draco loudly suspected would last a lot longer on their table than any other that sat a Weasley. Gaara picked up the heavy, ornate knife and wished chopsticks were more prevalent here.

 

The student body continued to chatter away about the aesthetic improvements to the school and about the opening of the school year. The professors entered from the back entrance and took their places by the head table and Draco observed that some of the staff were sporting new robes, presumably to match the renovated décor, though it was notable that Snape had failed to change for the occasion, his hair just as greasy and his robes just as moth-ridden.

 

While Draco was preoccupied with the teachers’ fashions and Gaara was wondering if he could get away with leaving if he did it before the year’s commencement ceremony started, a number of other (more observant) people noticed the range of expressions on the typically excited staff members’ faces.

 

Most of them appeared to be solemn, at best, with McGonagall enjoying the privacy in the Entry Hall to showcase her more openly murderous expression while her colleagues in view of the children had to keep theirs trained. Snape was looking less contemptuous than usual and more concerned or thoughtful, and even Hagrid and Dumbledore were struggling to smile.

 

When word spread and everyone took notice, minus a couple oblivious exceptions, talking lulled and in the silence Dumbledore stood to start proceedings while Minerva prepared the newest students.

 

“Good evening and welcome, one and all, to another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As many of you will have noticed, the castle has seen a few small changes since you last saw it. While most will celebrate the improvements, please know this: Hogwarts has stood a thousand years against the tests of time and conquest, and it has always held true the tenets of its illustrious founders. No matter what may outwardly change, nor what troubles might present themselves to its attendees, as surely as the stones hold strong, so do the beliefs that make this school thrive.”

 

The students had watched this grim speech silently and did not know what to do when it appeared to be over. It certainly did not seem to call for applause or cheers, instead it felt like they should stay very quiet and look scared.

 

“As fond as I am of dramatic speeches, I am afraid there is not time for more. It is time for the next year to join us here, into each of their and your Houses. Please, in the trials to come, help those younger and less powerful than yourselves to learn and grow.”

 

With those yet more ominous words, he waved his wand and the giant wooden doors creaked open, admitting McGonagall with her procession of eleven-year olds in tow. They could instinctually gauge the atmosphere in the Hall and were appropriately intimidated, beyond what was normally experienced by the incoming year as they were faced with hundreds of older students.

 

Harry blocked out Hermione’s muttering regarding Dumbledore’s warning and gazed at the new students, wondering if there would be anyone interesting joining Gryffindor this year. He did notice that one of the new boys was soaking wet, drenched from head to toe, and he overheard Colin Creevey bemoaning his idiot little brother who must have fallen in the lake.

 

“Watch out for that one.” Ron said, gesturing towards one of the girls straggling at the back of the queue. She looked rather unremarkable but Ron said, “She’s my second-cousin, I think, maybe once removed? On mum’s side. Anyway, she’s horrible. Think of a little girly Malfoy and that’s her. Completely rotten, Mafalda is.”

 

Harry resisted the urge to assert that Malfoy was already girly as McGonagall had gone to retrieve the Sorting Hat and he, like everybody else in the Hall that had witnessed last year’s Sorting, was very interested to see the state it was in.

 

“The Hat is looking rather well considering what happened last year.” Professor Sinistra said, leaning over to Dumbledore’s side.

 

“Such reactions aren’t entirely unheard of. I confess, I spent a little of my precious free time researching similar Sortings after last year’s eventful opening. It is rare, but young Gaara’s unusual reaction was nothing to be truly concerned over.” Albus whispered back.

 

Truth be told, his research had indicated the opposite of what he had just told his trusted colleague. The only two records he could find in his predecessors’ journals that detailed anything similar to what had transpired with Gaara had been caused by two wizards one should not like to be grouped with: Morgaine le Fay and Mercurious the Dark, from the 16th Century. It was likely that it had happened at other times and had simply not been written down or the records had been destroyed. Albus tried not to read too deeply into the fact that two of the worst Dark Lords in Britain’s history had elicited the same reaction as whatever was inside of Gaara’s mind. Talking to the Hat had achieved nothing, nor had re-examining his memories of Tom’s unremarkable Sorting.

 

“Have any of you seen the House ghosts or Peeves since we arrived?” Hermione asked.

 

“They’re probably off somewhere celebrating one of their deaths or something.” Ron said.

 

“Shh, they’re about to start the Sorting.” Harry said. He loved listening to the Sorting Hat’s song every year, though he could rarely make heads or tails of what it was talking about. Maybe he should consult a Ravenclaw or Hermione about it later.

 

Colin looked mortified when his brother squelched up to the stool and left it soaking wet after being swiftly sorted into Gryffindor. Ron was the only Gryffindor to cheer for a Slytherin’s Sorting when his reviled cousin was sent away from his House.

 

“The night is wearing on and there is still much to be done and said. Before we may enjoy our wonderful feast, I must make a few short announcements. Firstly, following the departure of Professor Lupin for personal reasons, a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher will be joining us. He seems to be running a bit late but do not let that fool any of you. Alastor Moody is not a man to be trifled with, he is perhaps the most qualified man in the country to further the education of some and commence the educations of others.”

 

Draco had turned so pale that his skin was closing in on Gaara’s porcelain complexion, and while the headmaster reiterated the standard warnings and updated rules, Draco explained to Gaara what had him so spooked. He told him of the paranoid, persecutory, prejudiced, crazy old man who fought in the last war and seemed to still be fighting, especially against families like Draco’s. Gaara was interested to meet such a hardened warrior in this world.

 

The third announcement was given with a delay of reluctance that became clear once the headmaster began speaking again. “And lastly, I am saddened to inform you that this year there will be no inter-house Quidditch season.”

 

Before he could continue, the student body were up in arms, shouting their complaints and gesticulating wildly as if Dumbledore had instead announced the creation of a class on Torturing Muggles (which probably would not have caused such uproar with the Slytherins as the lack of Quidditch did). The main question shouted was why it was being cancelled, but Dumbledore quietly waited until the children settled down before he continued.

 

“I understand many of you are upset, and I share much of your disappointment, but I assure you the reason for this temporary change will become clear after we have all had our dinner.”

 

“I don’t think they will be satisfied with just those words.” Minerva muttered behind her hand.

 

“I imagine not, but beyond all of our many other duties, our first priority should be to impart the truth to our pupils. Despite beliefs to the contrary, I have never been much one for subtle words. Better one fretful meal than allowing one in my position to spread lies.”Albus replied before signalling the start of the meal.

 

As the feast appeared and the chatter started up again, Minerva smiled and picked up her cutlery, continuing to talk under her breath, “A century after your Sorting and you’re every bit the Gryffindor you ever were.”

 

Gaara enjoyed his meal in silence, ignoring the angry  and fearful whispers about how last time the Quidditch was cancelled was because of the opening of Chamber of Secrets, and how the siege by Sirius Black had not put a stop to their cherished sport. So either it shouldn’t have been cancelled, or if it had to be, then whatever reason there was had to be serious. Deadly serious.

 

Gaara was quietly glad that he wouldn’t be forced to sit through any more of Draco’s games this year.

 

Midway through the meal, just as Draco was spooning a few extra potatoes onto his and Gaara’s plates, the main doors burst open, allowing entry for a crippled, scarred old man who caused Draco’s appetite to disappear entirely. Gaara watched the one-legged, one-eyed man hobble through the Great Hall to the head table and tried to work out whether he should be impressed by the battle-scars or disappointed by the remnants of one of the only warriors he had found in this world.

 

He was surely knowledgeable but Gaara doubted the man would be able to teach them much in the way of practical combat. Certainly would not be able to demonstrate much beyond stationary spellcasting.

 

All in all, rather disappointing.

 

That said, when the crippled man wobbled close to where Draco and he were sitting, he spotted a few fresh scars on the already heavily damaged face. Draco had totally frozen by the time the false eye span around to stare at him and Gaara for a few seconds.

 

Moody approached the staff table at the head of the room and greeted Dumbledore and McGonagall shortly before hobbling over to the empty seat and sloppily eating whatever was in reach, spilling almost as much Butterbeer as he consumed. Clearly the students were all interested in their new DADA professor but Dumbledore made no move to re-introduce him and Moody didn’t appear to be paying the Hall any attention at all, unless one looked closely enough to see his fake eye darting around and watching them all.

 

As far away as he way, even Gaara did not realise he was being intently observed for the most part, although he did get a cold shiver every now and then.

 

Once dinner had been done and the last of the deserts had been licked out of bowls, Dumbledore stood again, this time walking around the table to stand at the podium once more. He nodded to Hagrid and Snape and they sullenly rose to their feet and walked down the Hall to the doors.

 

“Now that we have all eaten, I have been asked to allow a special presentation to be held here tonight.” With that short prelude, he stood back from the podium and signalled for Hagrid and Snape to open the doors again, this time admitting two dozen reporters from various British wizarding papers as well as international outlets, all clamouring to stand at the front of the Hall, with a few exceptions running over to harass students. One or two ran straight for Harry Potter, resident celebrity student, to ask if he knew what was happening, what he thought about it, how he was coping, et cetera.

 

He response was, “Uhh…”

 

Dumbledore noticed the number of reporters trying to bother the children so he clapped his hands loudly enough to gather everyone’s attention. “If you would all please gather around the front.”

 

The back door opened after the impatient reporters were huddled around the podium, revealing the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, along with two other Ministry notables, Bartemius Crouch and Ludo Bagman, and a handful of Aurors and assistants. The Ministry officials swarmed out of the back entrance and gathered loosely behind the Minister as he took his position at the podium, waiting as a terrified secretary affixed a microphone to the school furniture all while the reporters went wild over the surprise press conference, having expected this to be a simple school affair they were ordered to attend.

 

When the task was done, Fudge cleared his throat and began to speak. “Good evening to all the students and professors of our fine Hogwarts, and to everyone listening in across Great Britain. I am interrupting your regularly scheduled programmes to bring you an important announcement from your Ministry of Magic which concerns every man woman and child within our society. Our school, the crowning jewel of European magical education, is to play host to an event that will strengthen our international ties and reaffirm Britain’s position within the magical world as a beacon of power and stability.

 

“This celebration of the next generation of witches and wizards was first dreamt up by our esteemed Heads of the Departments of Magical Games and Sports, and of International Magical Cooperation, here. Their idea inspired what I, as your Minister, have designed for this coming year. Starting this October, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will be hosting the newly restarted Triwizard Tournament!”

 

The press immediately started in on their questioning, frenzied and desperate to be the one to ask the most vital questions. Similarly the students had all but forgotten the disappointment of the cancelled Quidditch, instead now mentally linking this announcement with the obviously displeased countenance of the teachers. Clearly this was not the harmless diplomatic exercise the Minister was implying.

 

“Please, hold all of your questions until the end. Some of you may remember from your history books the long and glorious legacy of the Triwizard Tournament in centuries gone by, when young wizards and witches would compete from Europe’s three greatest magical schools for the prize and honour that accompanied the coveted Triwizard Cup. Like those times, three students, one from Hogwarts, one from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic in France, and one from the Durmstrang Institute of Scandinavia. Right now their Ministers and headmasters are giving this same announcement, but I am the only one who has the privilege of hosting this celebration in my own country.

 

“The tournament will consist of three Tasks, each more dangerous and challenging than the last, designed to test the entrant in their strength, their compassion, and their courage. Groups from both of the visiting schools will arrive on the thirtieth of October for the official opening ceremony of the Tournament, for which the fine young men and women of Hogwarts will provide a presentation of their magical prowess and our cultural heritage.”

 

It occurred to Harry and a number of muggleborn students that this opening ceremony sounded remarkably similar to the start of the Olympics and suspected that Ludo Bagman, who along with Crouch was looking rather peeved to have been sidelined on a project they obviously spearheaded, had been made aware of the grand muggle sporting event and had taken inspiration from it. Those same students then felt a pit of fear of settle in their stomachs when they realised they might be expected to perform in such a spectacle.

 

“For the twenty-four hours following the showcase, students will be able to submit their names to the Goblet of Fire and from them, the most worthy will be selected as their school’s Champion. By the request of the three headmasters, only students of fourteen years or above will be eligible to enter.”

 

In reality, Dumbledore had demanded such an age limit be placed since this dangerous publicity stunt was too perilous to allow just anyone to enter. As it was, he felt wretched that the limit wasn’t higher. If he had his way, and they were still holding this tournament, he would have seen no one under the age of seventeen or eighteen enter. It was unforgiveable for adults to force children to die, especially for no reason like this.

 

“On November the twenty-first, there will be the traditional Wand Weighing Ceremony, followed by the first Task on the twenty-sixth. The second Task will follow on the twenty-fourth of January, and the Third on June the twenty-fourth. The day after that will have the award ceremony, the parade and the closing ceremony at the Ministry of Magic.”

 

The pushy reporters tried interjecting with questions regarding the specific nature of the challenges but Fudge would offer no insight into them. They would remain a strict mystery until the events themselves.

 

“Between the Tasks, Hogwarts will also be host to a number of ancillary events to further promote the cooperation we are striving for. On the ninth of December, following the First Task, there will be a friendly duelling tourney for those seventeen and older, including professors of the schools, not including the headmasters or headmistress, which any interested student or staff may enter at their own discretion. Later that month, on the twenty-fifth, there will be the Yule Ball, for which all eligible students of fourteen and over and accompanying guests of all ages may also attend. As a further token of the Ministry’s esteem, we will be outfitting every attending student with a fresh set of dress robes at our own expense.

 

“And lastly there will be a two-day inter-school Quidditch tournament on March the twenty-sixth and -seventh, into which teams made from each school’s best players will be entered. As with the duelling tourney, Champions will not be permitted to enter, although I suspect they would have greater priorities at those times.”

 

Fudge chuckled, no one else did.

 

“These events, both the tasks and the extra events, will be entirely open to the public who wish to come and see firsthand. Tickets going on sale before each Task and event. Furthermore, each student staying at Hogwarts will be allotted one ticket for a random Task so everyone might get a chance to see the pride of our magical communities compete for riches and glory.”

 

It was immediately assumed by many, and asked by a number of reporters, whether the tickets would be exorbitantly expensive, but such questions were deferred for subsequent press conferences which would communicate the finer details.

 

“This Triwizard Tournament will be the start of a renewed era of cooperation between our Ministries and between our young witches and wizards. Now, I have time for a few questions… yes, you in the back…”

 

A ‘few questions’ turned into the better part of two hours on subjects ranging from the number of tickets Champions would be allocated (a maximum of two family members and two friends) to fabrics used to make the students’ uniform dress robes. Still all mention of the Tasks was steadfastly withheld no matter how circumspect the questioner tried to be.

 

Meanwhile, Draco was excitedly chatting Gaara’s ear off despite his depressed surety that he would not be selected for the school Quidditch team, speculating on what the Tasks might be, on who the Champion might be (“It better not be Potter!”), what the Yule Ball would be like, and on…

 

Still, at least he and Gaara were agreed on one point: neither boy had any intention of entering the Tournament. Regardless, no matter what his father would do, his mother would declare war on all three of the Ministries of Magic personally if they tried to compel him to compete. Not that he harboured any personal desire. He continued his talking even after berating Gaara for carving at his wand again.

 

In the aftermath of the announcement, the initial pervading shock had faded relatively quickly and the student body had switched to exaltation, all excited to be able watch the Tasks and for most to attend the Yule Ball.

 

The reporters followed suit, no one thinking to ask the obvious question of why Fudge and Dumbledore were clearly at odds, nor about the reason why the Triwizard Tournaments had been cancelled in the first place all those years ago, nor about the exploitative nature of this obviously political move and dangerous imposition on the students to shift blame for the dementor attack on Hogwarts. Instead they just continued to ask positive questions about the logistics and the Ministers’ individual hopes for the outcome of the event.

 

After Fudge finally stopped taking questions and his aides were able to drag him out of the limelight and into the Trophy Room in the back, Dumbledore rose back to his unsteady feet and thanked all of the journalists for coming before signalling his put-upon professors to begin corralling the intrusive men and women of the media out of the Hall.

 

True to form, one particularly tenacious reporter slipped by Hagrid and stayed low, behind the high-backs of the chairs, intending to grab a quick few moments with the Boy-Who-Lived to gain an impression of his reactions to the announcement. Since the reporter happened to be Rita Skeeter, all she needed was the vaguest reaction to work with and she would have her next two or three articles written by the end of the night. Unfortunately, she found herself trapped on the wrong side of the Hall with only a few moments before one of the upper-year Slytherins noticed her and alerted a teacher. The trouble she was going to be in for having snuck around to talk to a student would not be worth it for just any student, she decided, looking along the backs of partially obscured heads and tried to work out who to pounce on for a quote.

 

The backs of children’s heads were totally indistinct for her so she shuffled along to where she saw the only distinguishable trait: short platinum-blond hair on a Slytherin could only mean the son of Lucius Malfoy, suspected former Death Eater and Ministry hotshot, on the decline apparently. That was good for two articles, at least, one on the reaction and one on the decline and fall of a once prominent power within the Ministry.

 

She crawled along, preparing her most incendiary question to prompt the best response when she spotted the brightest red hair she ever recalled seeing, spiked on a head well below the Slytherins sat next to him. She felt a flutter of excitement, reminiscent of the prospect of covering Fudge’s PR stunt later this year, when she realised sat next to Malfoy’s son was Gaara, Defender of Hogwarts!

 

She had been trying to get a statement from him and his guardian, Sirius Black, all summer and here he was ripe for the picking.

 

She stopped behind the Malfoy boy’s chair and started, “Psst, hey.” She whispered to get his attention. Gaara turned to her, his eyes narrow and suspicious. “Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet. What can you tell me about the rumours that you and Sirius Black, notorious mass-murderer, were behind the attack at the Quidditch World Cup? What do you have to say about the Minister’s announcement?” Her fumbling hands reached into her pocket and tried to grab her Quick Quill for his response but before it could start up making lies and exaggerations of his reaction or lack thereof, her upper arm was yanked around to see Severus Snape, Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House, glaring at her and keeping a firm grip on her arm.

 

He knew better than to say a single word to her, instead he simply unceremoniously dragged her out of the Hall and threw her out of the castle entrance. It was only her years of experience being thrown out of places that kept her on her feet. She sadly had nowhere near enough to do a whole column on Gaara and by extension Sirius Black, but she could at least reference the redhead in a scathing indictment of Hogwarts staff hiring policies. If Albus Dumbledore, who was no longer being solicited for advice from the Minister’s office, according to a close source, was hiring dangerous and otherwise shady wizards and witches to teach at the school, the public should be duly alarmed.

 

She climbed into a lingering carriage and was ferried back to Hogsmeade where she would floo straight to London. She had better get writing since she needed to send her copy in less than three hours for it be published in the morning. Maybe she would grab a bite to eat first. That would still leave her plenty of time to jot down something the readers would lap up.

 

As she travelled, her mind wandered back to her interaction with the so-called Defender of Hogwarts, and a story did indeed come to mind. It would have to remain a column since her opinions would far outweigh any actual content she had to put in, but it would certainly garner a little interest.

 

Back in the Great Hall, since the reporters left, the students had resumed loudly talking of the impending visit by two other prominent schools, including one that housed a famous young Quidditch star, as well as the Tasks themselves and the other supplementary events they had to look forward to. In the heat of the moment, with excitement running high, the professors dreaded to think of the number of children intending to apply to take part in the Tournament.

 

Dumbledore once more stood and took his place at the forefront of the room, his face showing none of the warmth and joy that many of his guileless pupils were beaming at one another. Sadly this was exactly the effect Cornelius wished to have when he announced this plan, and it would likely be felt by a great many magical folk across the world, except for those parents who would now have to worry about their endangered children entering.

 

There was nothing anyone could do to stop them, regrettably.

 

It was in times like these he envied Aberforth for spending his later years running a pub instead of being involved in international politics and running a world-renowned educational facility.

 

“The hour is late and I for one would dearly like to get some sleep, so I will say only these last few words: for those of you who are old enough to submit your names for the Triwizard Tournament, know that eternal glory and riches may be yours but over the coming months you must weigh this hope with the very real dangers involved with competing. And most of all, do not neglect your schoolwork dwelling on distractions. Some happenstances are inevitable but it is your foremost priority to focus on your schooling, as it is ours, and all of the chaos and excitement beyond that must be kept in our peripheral.

 

“Now, I hope you all sleep soundly in spite of this news. It is the start of a new year and with it will come the greatest forms of magic, which I assure you have little to do with battling or questing, but instead are the simplest of phenomena: music, learning and friendship. If you can enjoy one of these things, no matter the tribulations ahead, you have little to fear. Good night.”

 

With that, Dumbledore stood back and waved for the Heads of House to coordinate their prefects to empty the Hall. With the press conference running long, this welcoming feast was finishing a full hour later than usual, meaning that there were going to be a great many very tired teenagers in the morning.

 

Albus told all of the professors who covertly tried to get his attention and ask him perfectly valid questions, that they would all have to wait until the annual start of term staff meeting the night after tomorrow. They would discuss what had been said tonight then. They understandably were less than pleased to be dismissed for the night but he was too old to be staying up all hours of the night and they would be just as upset in two days time, so there was no real harm in waiting.

 

On the way down to the Dungeons, one of the current Slytherin prefects tried to hold Gaara up, to have a word with him, but without physically impeding him he couldn’t seem to stop Gaara from continuing down to the dormitory. Instead, the considerably taller and older boy had to walk next to the disrespectful fourth-year and tried to command him to surrender his small gourd, as per the new school guidelines. Gaara told him no, not privately as the prefect expected him to do, but instead in earshot of most of their House.

 

Gaara believed he had been more than reasonable in downsizing his gourd already, and asking him to further disarm was not a request to be taken seriously.

 

The prefect who had been so openly defied had no delusions of forcing the fourteen-year old to comply with his order, not after the show of power he and so many had witnessed at the end of last year. Nonetheless, Professor Snape had ordered him to reiterate the rules to Gaara and he had. It was entirely the redhead’s fault if he failed to follow that relayed order.

 

Draco scoffed when their prefect retreated to the back of the procession of Slytherins, keeping track of any firsties who might get left behind.

 

In the Common Room Gaara found himself surrounded by his housemates who had decided now would be the time to flock toward him and showcase their admiration or gratitude, which they had tried to resist before in public. Now in private they continued to do what the other Houses had been doing, annoying their new saviour, with even Crabbe and Goyle failing to adhere to the customary boundaries of terror. Consequently he snuck off into the boys’ dorms to rest in his and Draco’s room.

 

Gaara left just as Snape had shown up, ready to give his annual welcome speech to the new Slytherins, which the foreigner had inadvertently also skipped last year. He found different names on his room from last year which meant he and Draco had been allocated a new one which he would have to search for.

 

He search down the long hallway until he found his name, underneath Blaise Zabini’s…

 

He immediately removed his name from the door and walked onwards to find Draco’s, which he did, sat above Theodore Nott’s. He switched his name for Nott’s and walked into the room, picking up the things the he didn’t recognise as belonging to Draco and swiftly carried them back to where he was originally supposed to be staying. Rooms were probably supposed to be randomly allocated but Gaara was confident Snape had a hand in trying to separate him from his best friend in this school.

 

He swapped out his things for Nott’s and carried them back to where he intended to live this year, ignoring Nott who was stood in the passageway, watching impassively as he was moved into a different room.

 

Gaara attached his name to the door, finally, and entered with his trunk of possessions and settled on his bed, which he ensured was on the same side of the room as last year.

 

Not long after Gaara had changed into his night clothes, intending to enjoy a night’s sleep for a change, Draco showed up, ecstatic to find that he and Gaara would be rooming together again by some miracle. What luck!

 

Draco immediately unpacked the bare necessities for the night and tomorrow, too tired to bother hanging all of his robes and unpacking the rest of his school supplies. As he changed, feeling the lateness of the hour, he idly chatted with his again-roommate.

 

“I can’t believe father didn’t know about all of this. Fudge must have been keeping it a secret from him. I can’t wait until he gets thrown out of office. Pulling a stunt like this! There is no way I’m going anywhere near this Tournament. I hope you feel the same. I suppose you do. You dislike attention, don’t you, so entering something like that would be pointless, wouldn’t it. Of course, Dumbledore probably came up with this ridiculous idea first. Anything to redeem himself for last year’s debacle.”

 

As Draco had been talking, largely to himself, and changing, Gaara’s eyes had been drawn to the prominent bruise on Draco’s side, at the bottom of his ribs. It looked painful but most likely no breakages.

 

Draco pulled his nightshirt over his head and off and only then did he notice Gaara’s eyes on his sizable bruise. Knowing Gaara’s tendency towards melodramatics, he quickly spoke, “Oh, this? This is from when I... when I fell over this morning getting out of the bath. It’s not nearly as painful as it looks.”

 

“You fell in the bath. This was because of the stitch in your side?” Gaara asked.

 

“Yes! That’s it. The stitch I said I had earlier was… that was why I fell…” Draco avoided eye contact and broadcasted with every sign of typical body language that he was lying.

 

Gaara said nothing more on the subject, simply pulling out a book from the top of his expanded trunk and began reading. He had planned on sleeping tonight but suddenly he didn’t feel so close to sleep anymore. After Draco had turned in for the night, Gaara entered into his gargantuan trunk and read in there by wand-light without the fear of waking Draco up.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

The next morning at breakfast, the school was still so abuzz that students almost ignored their new schedules as they continued to make boasts about their chances of selection or predictions for the Tasks. When Snape came to give the timetables to his House, he bundled Gaara’s with Draco’s and ignored the redhead entirely; Gaara was perfectly happy with ignoring the man for another year.

 

He glanced at his schedule and went straight back to his breakfast. He was in the same class as Draco for the first period of the day so he didn’t need to commit the classroom to memory.

 

Along with the continued excitement from last night, a few noticed that the ghosts had reappeared this morning, frightening the first years worse than they had in years.

 

Gaara was briefly distracted by Granger making a scene over by the Gryffindor table, something to do with House Elves, but he tuned her out since the morning post was arriving and it was quite the scene to behold.

 

Dumbledore could not be certain, but he thought it might be a record number of owls that flew into the Great Hall that morning, with almost every student receiving at least one each. In minutes, all four tables were covered in thick carpets of various coloured feathers, and Albus sighed at the wasted breakfast foods the elves had prepared.

 

Parents had almost unanimously decided to write to their offspring after Fudge’s radio address last night, most telling their children not to even consider entering the Triwizard Tournament under any circumstances. However, that was the extent of their control, as the letters Fudge had sent to every Hogwarts parent last night to coincide with the announcement had informed them. They would not be allowed to actually impede their children from entering, beyond missives like this morning’s, and no child could be removed from school until after the selection took place.

 

Parents’ reactions were not moderate. The Ministry also received a new record number of owls and personal complaints, with one or two legal challenges being raised and promptly quashed later in the day. However, reactions from non-parental magical people had been overwhelmingly positive, according to his reports, so Fudge set his extra staff to work reading through his hate-mail and removing the handful of pertinent or useful letters from amongst them and spent his day basking in the positive media attention and publically meeting with his French and Scandinavian counterparts.

 

As he had heard it, his counterpart Ministers, Francois Entrempe and Woulter Andersen, had both given speeches similar to his own at the same time, with both pretending that it had been their own idea to begin with. Still, what those countries thought of it didn’t matter, just so long as Britain knew it was all his work.

 

Back in the less glamorous sphere of Hogwarts, Draco was surprised to find two of his family’s owls standing before him, both holding letters and looking strangely antagonistic towards each other regarding which letter Draco should take first. In the end, to avoid a pecked finger or a bird fight, he gingerly took both simultaneously and then offered two pieces of bacon. Luckily neither had been ordered to await a reply so they squawked loudly at each other and took flight, exiting through separate windows despite heading in exactly the same direction.

 

Draco watched them go and marvelled at the parallels between the owls and his parents, who had sent the letters and were clearly still fighting. That his mother had seen fit to send her own owl to carry her separate letter meant that she had likely listened to Fudge’s radio address on her own last night.

 

The contents of the letters were largely the same to start with, both sternly warning him to ignore Fudge’s vanity project and stay at least twenty feet from the Goblet of Fire during the selection process. His mother went on to ask him a few personal questions like how the train ride had gone and who he was rooming with, saying she hoped he was with a friend again this year. His father’s letter was shorter, giving him his command and taciturnly apologising for accidentally pushing him against the side table yesterday morning. He did not elaborate on the apology, nor did he ask if Draco was indeed okay, simply signing off after reiterating the reason for the letter and reminding him to rebuild some of his broken social bridges from last year.

 

With the sudden popularity Gaara was enduring, Draco figured half of his social issues would evaporate this year. Of more concern was the schism between his parents, having developed probably out of their differing opinions of how to approach Draco’s enduring friendship with Gaara despite it placing him at odds with certain circles. The final nail had obviously been the knock Draco had gotten in the ribs from that table which his mother had decided to blame father for.

 

Loudly!

 

He would reply to them tonight after dinner. He needed to consult his old etiquette book on how to deal with sending separate replies, especially since he only had one owl to use and he would not deign use one of the mangy school owls.

 

To his right, Gaara had gotten his own letter and was casually opening it, which Draco envied. It was probably from Sirius Black and would cause Gaara none of the anxiety Draco received every time he got a letter from his father. Maybe it was because of the inherent stress of the father-son relationship rather than because of the blatant differences in then men’s characters.

 

Gaara broke the wax seal and pulled out the letter, deciphering Sirius’ elaborate calligraphy:

 

‘ _Bandit,_

_I know this was in no way your fault but I cannot help but marvel at your inexhaustible ability to attract trouble. Between Prongslet and you, I worry for Hogwarts. I got a letter from the Ministry saying that I can’t stop you from entering that tournament and you aren’t allowed to switch schools until they’ve picked a champion, but I hope you would know better than to enter into something like that anyway. It’s a fool’s errand._

_Of course, I’m going to be purchasing tickets for all four of us for all of the events as soon as they go on sale. I’m not supposed to spend money on things like this anymore but what Remus and my accountant don’t know won’t hurt me._

_Please write back soon and tell me how the train was and who you’re rooming with this year. I heard that Slytherins change rooms every year. Probably to reduce the possibility of emotional attachments…_

_Only joking._

_Don’t forget to write to me again, and don’t forget to do some school stuff as well, while you’re there._

_Your loving guardian,_

_Padfoot_

_P.s. Hello Gaara,_

_I hope you got to school okay. No dementor attacks on the train this year? Sirius and I are furious about what Fudge has pulled but there is nothing we can do about it now. Make sure you do not accidentally enter yourself into that silly contest of his._

_Try to have some fun this year and don’t forget about your lessons. I know they might not seem as important to you but consider them as a challenge._

_Best of luck,_

_Remus_ ’

 

Gaara sighed. Clearly everybody thought he was stupid enough to get himself wrapped up in this bizarre event, apparently reminiscent of the Chunin exams but with civilians taking part. Barbaric and entirely outside of his interests.

 

From between the two pieces of parchment fell a photo that Sirius had forewarned him he would be sending. Gaara covertly glanced at the scene that played out on the animated paper and deemed it worthless, carefully stashing it in his robes to discard into his trunk tonight. Harry had received on too, by the looks of things at the Gryffindor table, but fortunately he did not pass it around as Gaara feared he might; but his two compatriots would surely see it soon.

 

Along with the hundreds of letters, including more than a few complaints sent directly to Dumbledore and the Heads of Houses, there came the usual morning delivery of the Daily Prophet. Draco received one every day and Gaara often ended up stealing it from him before he had a chance to finish it. Draco was a frustratingly slow reader.

 

This morning, Draco voluntarily surrendered the paper halfway through, eyes wide, mouth parted a fraction of an inch. Gaara wondered what in the rag might be so shocking for him but started reading anyway. The front pages were filled with the Triwizard Tournament, analysis, and commentary. Gaara skimmed through the articles, wondering what about this would have been cause for any measure of surprise.

 

It was, however, cause for concern that the number of negative impressions or speculations was almost nonexistent compared to the acclaim being heaped upon Fudge and the Ministry. Still, none of this was of interest so Gaara read onwards, conscious of Draco watching him as he went.

 

Until a column title in the middle of the paper caught his eye, ‘ _Hogwarts’ Students’ Reactions to Minister Fudge’s Announcement_ ’ by Rita Skeeter. A glance up at Draco’s face showed that he was at the right section at last.

 

‘ _Following last night’s earth shattering announcement of the Triwizard Tournament by Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, this reporter was able to personally gauge the reactions of the young and impressionable student body of Hogwarts School for Wizardry and Witchcraft. I approached two young Slytherins, and was able to speak with the boy hailed as the Defender of Hogwarts, Gaara (no last name known) – age 12._

_He was a small thing, even for a second year student, and looked upon my approach with the wide, cautious eyes of a child who is instinctively fears authority figures. His close attachment to the son of a notable Ministry official and public figure has raised eyebrows in the past, but his more recent connection to the attack at the Quidditch World Cup Finals last month is what has drawn attention for the public, as well as his involvement in the infamous Attack on Hogwarts in March._

_Belying his parts in these catastrophic events, what sat before me was not a hardened fighter but a small boy who wears eyeliner and dyes his hair scarlet, who could not bring himself to answer a single question posed to him, his eyes glistening with unshed tears and quiet desperation. Clearly whatever role he has played in these climactic events, he has been forced into._

_He could not give any coherent reaction to this newest upheaval when I approached him, beyond the clear emotional outpouring that he dearly wished to give. And it may well warrant it, this latest move by our Minister for Magic to restore his credibility, which may well lead to the injury or death of one of Gaara’s brave schoolmates._ ’

 

The column went on to give some wider context of the other student’s reactions and gave promises of her next article exploring the fall of Lucius Malfoy, but Gaara stopped reading after his name’s final mention, utterly shocked. Draco’s initial gormless expression was likely perfectly replicated on Gaara’s typically stoic face right now.

 

Gaara had to look back at the paper tightly clutched in his hands repeatedly to make sure that he wasn’t imagining this total affront to him and his precious dignity, but sure enough it was still there staring right back at him. Looking around the Great Hall, he spotted copies of the same paper in the hands of dozens of other students and one or two professors. There were too many papers and too many people to rob quickly enough to avoid being hexed or avoided. There was no way for him to stop this heinous and libellous story from getting out. He was doomed.

 

Whether it was his imagination or truth, Gaara was convinced people were beginning to look up from their newspapers and look towards him in that moment.

 

Draco watched Gaara blush, stand and march out of the Hall without allowing his eyes to deviate from the exit. He did not think he had ever seen Gaara so mortified, which was saying something considering his low tolerance for embarrassment and his lunar cycle’s regular inducement of it.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

Draco was surprised to find Gaara waiting in the Charms classroom for the first period of the day, sure that he would ditch class as he so often and so easily did following his humiliation.

 

Gaara nodded his greeting to Draco as he entered the room and kept the incredulity off of his face when he noticed how out of breath his classmates were after climbing a few flights of stairs. How anyone got tired moving that slowly was anybody’s guess. Of course, the worst of these unfit students happened to be in this class, the Slytherins and the Ravenclaws, who both seemed to believe unless it was sitting on a broom, there was no worthwhile excuse to exercise.

 

In the lesson itself, Gaara again demonstrated his total ineptitude for magic. Draco would have liked to spend the lesson helping Gaara with the relatively easy spell, probably chosen to reintroduce the students to the subject after months of lounging around at home, but all the help he could offer would likely do little good and he didn’t want to fall behind as well.

 

After Charms came Care of Magical Creatures with _Professor_ Hagrid alongside the Gryffindors. The Slytherins, Gaara noticed, were much more accepting of Draco this year following his being outcast last year, and by extension (or perhaps the other way around) Gaara was included too. No one tried to talk to him but they did not maintain the old exclusion zone.

 

During the class, when the other students were observing (with disgust) the Blast-Ended Skrewts which Gaara considered strange so he steered clear, he wandered over to where Hagrid was watching the class and asked, “How is the dog?” It hadn’t been that long since he had snuck over to check in on the overgrown puppy but he still wanted to be sure.

 

“He’s perfectly well.” Hagrid said shortly, wary of indulging the miniscule redhead’s bizarre and continued claim of ownership of the hellhound.

 

Rubeus was also in the midst of a rare argument with Professor Dumbledore since the Headmaster had found out that Fluffy was out in the woods and was now insisting that Hagrid relocate him to an ‘appropriate home’, somewhere in Greece. This disagreement was confounded by the dangerous Tournament Fudge was forcing on the school, which Hagrid was supposed to be helping with.

 

As happy as he was being a professor, Hagrid sometimes dearly missed being a simple groundskeeper.

 

Looking down at the flair of red that was slowly moving back over top the group of Slytherins who could not bring themselves to approach his Skrewts, Hagrid decided not to tell Gaara about the threat of sending Fluffy away. The last thing anybody needed was Gaara trying to sneak the giant three-headed dog home or into the castle.

 

After Care of Magical Creatures was over, Gaara said farewell to Draco and went on to his first Arithmancy class. His acceptance to the course was still contingent on his passing the introductory test but he was not too worried since he had spent so long on his independent studies focussing on magical numerology and linguistics. He still had no clues on how to get home but perhaps learning some of these disciplines with the help of a teacher might help him reach the requisite level to find some manner by which to travel between worlds and dimensions.

 

The only person he was at all familiar with in the class was Hermione Granger who smiled and waved, for some reason, when he entered the class, as if they were friends…

 

Fortunately, his entrance test was to last the full two hours of the class so he was guaranteed not to have to interact with the intrusive Gryffindor girl, instead sitting apart from the others at the back of the class. The written test was easy to start with but grew progressively more difficult, actually extending beyond the limits of his self-learned knowledge by the end, presumably designed to examine the full range of his abilities.

 

After the lesson let out and Gaara had given his test to Professor Vector, he rushed out the door, trying to avoid what he knew was inevitable-

 

“Gaara, wait a second!” Hermione called out behind him.

 

Damn, he knew he should have run or _shunshin_ ed.

 

Since he did not want to start his feud with Harry and his friends anew, he did not rudely ignore her but slowed so that she could catch up, several oversized books held in her arms. She fell into step with him and continued to smile at him as if they were well-acquainted.

 

“How do you think you’ve done on the test?” She asked. “Professor Vector’s tests are really hard but she’s a fair marker, I think.”

 

Gaara nodded, agreeing about the difficulty of the exam he just took but not wanting to encourage a conversation. Regardless of his continuing disinterest, Hermione ploughed on, starting up on her latest passionate cause: House Elf rights. She was flabbergasted to hear that Gaara had known for so long that Hogwarts employed House Elf labour and did not care about the prospect of slavery. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about forced labour, it was just that it did not seem all that forced with the elves.

 

There was a comparable debate in his world about the use of summons as, beside the few able to converse and test their summoners, most contracts were forced on the varyingly sentient animals, but like the elves they couldn’t be summoned and commanded unless they allowed themselves to be. Trying to explain this to Hermione without mentioning his world or summoning proved yet again that conversations with Gryffindors were wasted breaths.

 

Glad to move away from Hermione’s exaggerated indignation and over-familiarity, Gaara power-walked to the Slytherin table as soon as they entered the Great Hall, sitting alone and enjoying the brief return to peace and quiet before someone would inevitably seat themselves next to him. Nowadays, he would be lucky if that person happened to be Draco, rather than the shallow sycophants who were suddenly so eager to be seen in his company. The worst part was knowing that Draco almost certainly would have been amongst them had he and Gaara not become friends last year.

 

As luck would have it, Draco did manage to get to the Hall in time to snag the seat next to Gaara before one of the braver Slytherins took the liberty.

 

“What’s Granger mouthing off about now?” Draco asked, helping himself to a sandwich.

 

Gaara looked over to where she was giving her latest speech. He was surprised she hadn’t transfigured her seat into a soapbox. “I don’t know.” He lied.

 

“Honestly, some people come to into our world and try to change everything.” He groused, taking an angry bite.

 

“Like how Voldemort did?” Gaara said.

 

Draco stopped his emotional eating and gave Gaara a look. Gaara resisted the urge to smirk, and continued eating lunch.

 

“It’s not like I ever actually served the Dark Lord myself.” Draco whispered, not wishing to be heard defaming the man many of his housemates still lauded.

 

Gaara continued with his lunch, ignoring Draco’s fluster.

 

At the end of lunch, they were approached by Professor Vector who was smiling widely as she walked up.

 

“I’m pleased to tell you that you can continue in my class from next week onwards. You did very well on the test earlier, you should be very proud.” She continued to smile despite Gaara’s lack of outward reaction. “I wanted to come and tell you personally.”

 

Gaara continued to stare at her, unsure of a polite response; should he thank her? Was he supposed to respond to her gratitude? Would saying “good bye” work?

 

Eventually, while he deliberated over the correct answer, she looked to Draco to work out why Gaara was staying totally silent and looking thoughtful, to which Draco could only shrug. She nervously said her farewells and went to have a quick, late lunch. By the time Gaara looked up having decided to thank her for using her lunch break to mark his test, she was nowhere to be seen and Draco had gone back to eating. Gaara silently wondered what had happened but decided it was probably unimportant, otherwise Draco would catch him up.

 

The rest of the first day of classes went swimmingly, though Gaara was eagle-eyed in his search for any reactions to Skeeters fraudulent article. The entire school enjoyed the immediate weekend after only that single day’s return to schooling, nobody more so than the teachers.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

On Saturday morning, Draco beat Gaara to breakfast for a change, owing to the redhead being focussed on an interesting chapter of a book Draco had recommended to him from the Malfoy library. It recounted the life and exploits of Jean Malvoris, a notable wizard from the tenth century who might have been the forefather of the Malfoy family and who was said to have appeared out of nowhere. Sadly, as Gaara turned into the Great Hall, he came to the section that clarified that Jean did not come to England from another world so much as from the Kingdom of Italy.

 

They were early to the Hall so the only member of staff present at the head table was Professor Flitwick, who was quite clearly asleep after having had to go on patrol last night when Professor Sinistra claimed she couldn’t possibly miss an ‘important celestial event’ and needed someone to cover for her.

 

Closing the ancient book and putting it under his arm, Gaara was concerned to find Draco missing from their usual seats despite having left for breakfast only a couple minutes before him. In spite of the hope that his platinum-blond friend was just visiting the loo, he looked around the Hall, especially at the Gryffindor table. Unsurprisingly, he found Draco stood across from the usual suspects from the lion House. Slumping his shoulders in defeat, Gaara wearily approached to hear the middle of the latest argument between the sons of the Malfoy and Weasley families.

 

Gaara had clearly missed a lot but right then and there he heard Draco mocking Weasley’s family over another recent Rita Skeeter article. Apparently, instead of laying blame on the Ministry, which was golden in the eyes of the press at the moment, it was blaming Arthur Weasley for failing to capture the wizards or witches who attacked Professor Moody’s home. If there was one thing Gaara could be sure of, following his own experience with Ms Skeeter’s brand of journalism, it was that Mr Weasley was entirely blameless in the situation.

 

It was just as he was nearing the antagonised group that he had to hear Draco say some very unbecoming things about Mrs Weasley’s weight, to which Ron fired back an insult about Narcissa’s face being ‘pinched’. Gaara stepped right into the middle of the closing group, which would have likely led to blows between the blond and ginger had he not, and effortlessly knocked both of the disparaging boys to the ground. He liked both women and would not suffer to hear them insulted like this for no good reason.

 

Gaara ignored Granger and Potter’s protective stance over their downed friend and waited for Draco to climb back onto his feet unaided, before shoving him back to their side of the Hall.

 

The rest of their morning meal was silent as Draco fumed over the words said about his sainted mother and Gaara’s failure to side with him, all while they both had to endure the harsh glares of Ron and then the other Weasley children all through their eating, though it was clearly pointed more towards Draco than Gaara.

 

Worse than the feeble looks directed at them from angry teenagers was the fact that the entire first-year cohort had evidently been informed by the upperclassmen in their Houses of Gaara’s role at the end of last year and his other exploits during his first year in the school. They were all now looking at him like the pureblood children looked at Harry Potter when he first arrived, as some sort of local celebrity. Fortunately, they had not had the time to build any resistance to his exclusionary glares and temperament so they maintained their distances. Draco thought it was hilarious.

 

The blond spent his Saturday morning catching up with his Slytherin Quidditch teammates, strategising on how best to get the most people onto the school team for the Triwizard inter-school tournament. Meanwhile, Gaara decided to take the time alone to visit his pet in the Forbidden Forest for the first time in about a month.

 

Fluffy was… excitable.

 

By the time Gaara returned to the castle, he had to make a beeline for the Dungeons so that he could take a shower. He was lucky he hadn’t brought any food out for the over-enthusiastic dog otherwise he might well have drowned in all of the slobber. Stupid mutt. At least he had not forgotten the tricks Gaara had taught him.

 

After he had freshened up, the smallest fourth year headed up to the library, hoping that Madam Pince might have added a few new and pertinent books to the school’s legendary collection. He was almost there when he noticed the older boy coming in the opposite direction was looking directly at him. Back in Suna, that was a good indicator that this boy was a poorly-trained assassin but here it could mean a fan, a simple well-wisher, or some sort of schoolyard enemy. The latter was less likely since the boy approaching, definitely heading straight for him, was wearing a green tie.

 

“Professor Dumbledore wants to see you.” The older boy said. Suddenly he seemed more familiar but Gaara could not place the face.

 

“When?” He replied, wanting to visit the library first.

 

“At your earliest convenience, he said.” The boy informed him. He was the prefect who had told Gaara to remove his mini-gourd the night before last! No wonder he seemed less than pleased to talk to Gaara and kept glancing down at the gourd, which had not left his hip once outside of his room.

 

“Understood.” Gaara nodded and turned on his heel. The Headmaster was too polite to demand Gaara appear immediately but nonetheless the trained soldier had no desire to put off the meeting. With any (non-existent) luck, this would be a clerical meeting, or one about his living situation with Sirius.

 

The spiral staircase was ready for him when he came upon it, and Dumbledore called for him to enter before he even had the chance to knock.

 

“Good morning, Gaara. I hope I haven’t disturbed your Saturday too grievously. Would you like some tea? I have some delicious Hojicha tea a friend sent to me from abroad which I think you might like. Sadly, it means we will have to make it ourselves. The elves here can make the most sumptuous feasts and brew almost any drink, but I have never had the time to devote to teaching them how to make perfect cup of herbal tea.”

 

Gaara nodded, trying not to sound overly eager for the first cup of potentially well-brewed tea he had encountered in this world.

 

“Wonderful. I must say, I am pleased to host a student who appreciates a proper cup of tea for a change, although a stiff Irish coffee is an equally enjoyable rarity.” He chuckled and clicked his fingers, summoning the house elf with the tea tray. “Thank you. If you could set it down over there…” He pointed to a small side table between two stuffed chairs.

 

“If you would bear with me for a moment, I just need to finish these last two papers.” Dumbledore continued scratching away with his quill and Gaara continued his survey of the room, filled with any number of fascinating gadgets. After only a few minutes, Dumbledore set down his quill, blew the ink dry on his papers and set them aside. He groaned and creaked as he climbed to his feet, before gesturing for Gaara to join him in the more comfortable seats away from his desk.

 

“I hope you don’t mind but I think this talk is best done away from my desk. It is not, strictly speaking, within the purview of a headmaster to ask what I am about to ask.”

 

Gaara sat across from him and tried to work out what the elderly man was about to push him for now, or if he was just going to ask the same old questions about Gaara’s origins. He carefully watched the headmaster make the tea, wary of any potions the man might slip in to help draw out answers to questions Gaara had no desire to divulge.

 

“I suppose I might take the opportunity to personally welcome you back to Hogwarts. I’m sorry that you will not get to experience a more typical school year, after the troubles last year; but if I am truthful, I’m not sure I have experienced such a thing myself either. Have you settled in comfortable?”

 

“I do not like small talk.” Gaara said, watching the man evenly, “What do you want?”

 

“Yes, I expect you see the value of directness after your vocal difficulties last year. I will cut to the point, then, as they say.” He poured out two cups and allowed Gaara to pick which one he would like, having noticed Gaara’s careful observation. Gaara took a cup and enjoyed the scent but only after the old man took a sip did Gaara allow himself to enjoy it. “I know that you come from another world or dimension.” He took a sip and gave the boy a moment to unfreeze.

 

Gaara was glad he had not had a mouthful of tea when he heard the elderly man announce this otherwise he might have spurted it out. Looking the old man in the eye again, he tried to work out whether this was a guess or a threat.

 

“I have seen a great many things in my life, as old as I have become, but I don’t think I have ever met someone not from this world. I confess, I worked out your origins a little while ago but decided to let you keep your secret until you proved yourself to be a threat to the other children here. Far from that, you have protected them. When I last asked you to tell me about yourself, I had hoped you might feel enough trust in me to freely share your past.”

 

“What evidence do you have that I am from another world?” Gaara finally asked, eliciting a sigh from his fellow tea-appreciator.

 

“Precious little, evidence or proof, that is, but I have seen enough of your abilities and behaviours over your time here that I felt confident in my assessment. Then when I saw what happened on the night of the attack, through the eyes of one or two of my colleagues, I was sure.”

 

Gaara spent a few moments processing what this might mean and decided not to try and deny it since that would only forestall whatever the headmaster desired by bringing this up now. “You mentioned keeping my secret; why are you bringing it up now?”

 

“Very astute.” Albus said. “I don’t imagine I was at all subtle in my disapproval of the Triwizard Tournament after Minister Fudge’s announcement on Thursday. The plans were sprung on me only a week before with a threat of removal as headmaster should I refuse to accommodate it. I decided I could do more good in place than resigning in protest. Only time will tell if I was correct in doing so. Make no mistake, this tournament is a selfish stunt by the Minister for Magic because he wishes to regain his popularity. Cornelius has always been afraid but until now he has always put stock in my council. Now others are advising him to control the country like a Roman emperor holding gladiatorial matches to pacify the people.

 

“I couldn’t stop him from running the Tournament and now my primary concern is to stop any of my students from being killed, as did happen in the Tournaments of centuries gone by. It was for this reason that I insisted on an age-line, but contrary to my desire to allow only the most experienced and trained students from taking part, I asked that it be set at fourteen so that you might participate. I have no doubt that the Goblet of Fire will select you, and you posses the skills and the mindset to survive the Tasks, whatever they might be. This is why I asked you here this morning, to ask you to enter your name for the Tournament, and should you be selected you will act as Hogwarts’ champion.”

 

“And if I do not enter, you will reveal my origins?” Gaara asked, beginning to feel hostile.

 

“No, no, certainly not. No, I ask that you enter and if you’re selected, you will win the Triwizard Cup, and if you do, I will offer my not-inconsiderable knowledge and help in getting you home.”

 

“How do you know I want to go home? I might want to stay here, I might be hiding from something.”

 

“I know for the same reason I am aware that you are not from this world: I know what books you have taken out of the library. Your reading has been so varied, it took me longer than I might like to admit to put it together.”

 

Gaara smiled at that. He had not considered that anybody would think to look at his reading and much less that they would be able to work out what it all meant, considering how broad his search had been.

 

“If I say no?” Gaara asked.

 

“I will be very disappointed.” Dumbledore said, “Not in you. I will be disappointed that I misjudged the situation so, and that I have allowed children your age, without whatever training you have undergone, to enter freely. I do not think any of them would be selected as the Champion but it would haunt me if they were. But this is not to be taken as coercion, this is entirely up to you. I will do whatever I have to, to protect the children.”

 

“You believe I would be chosen, from all of the Gryffindors and older students?” Gaara asked.

 

“Yes, I do. Of all of the boys and girls in the school, I believe that you are the strongest, the most worldly, and possibly one of the bravest. Your facing the boggart, your killing of countless dementors. Do you know why the killing of dementors is so rare? It is not a wizard’s lack of offensive magic, it is because he is affected too strongly by the dementors aura that he cannot think to fight, only to run and hide. Only the exceptionally brave can even summon a Patronus to revitalise their spirits and fend off the dementor. To try and fight them would usually lead only to a Kiss. You, however, have proven yourself to be courageous and powerful.

 

“If you are selected, you will follow the guidelines and will fairly win the Tournament and along with the prize you will receive all the help I can offer. Allow me a moment of ego when I tell you that I might be your best chance of returning to your home soon.”

 

Dumbledore felt retched lying to the boy. He had every intention of helping Gaara go home, regardless of his decision here, and should he elect to enter and lose the tournament he would still be helped. However, sadly, this motivation was required even if it was the worst type of manipulation, preying on a child’s hope. Beyond that, he did not want Gaara entering and not participating, spurning Fudge and potentially leading to further trouble down the road.

 

Gaara took a while to decide. Dumbledore’s contingent help would be an immense help in his search, and it would be a small bonus to know that no one else would be able enter from the school. Even if their death or dismemberment would be their own fault for entering. Still, it was a steep price to pay. He knew very little about the Tasks so it may well be dangerous even to him, and the notoriety it would foist upon him would be even worse than he suffered until now. It would also lead to difficulties with Sirius, Remus and Draco since they would never let him live down his entrance, and he could not reveal the nature of this accord since that would possibly endanger the deal.

 

Sirius would lay siege to Hogwarts (again) if he found out Dumbledore put him in the line of fire.

 

Gaara sighed heavily, set his teacup down and said, “I will enter.”

 

“I am glad to hear that, and very sorry to have asked it. I will add one more caveat before we conclude our deal. I want you to return to Potions this year.”

 

Gaara turned sharp eyes on the old man, feeling conned with the goal posts changing like this.

 

“I have talked to Professor Snape about this and we have come to an understanding about the acceptable behaviour of teachers towards their students. I fear he may never come to warm to you but he should no longer discriminate against you so harshly.”

 

“If he treats me as he did-”

 

“Then I ask that you come to me about it and I will correct the issue. We cannot have a repeat of what transpired in your last Potions lesson.”

 

Gaara was less than happy about this addendum to the deal but decided it was a good opportunity to make demands of his own. “Agreed, as long as I can use the Restricted Section of the Library as I wish, total access. Furthermore, I will no longer be bound by the school curfew.”

 

“I can give you permission to access the Restricted Section as long as you are responsible with your research. Your readings in there will be recorded and checked by me. If I feel you are straying too far into ill-advised territory, I will contact you about it. The curfew is another matter. I cannot give a single student special permission to break the rules without raising eyebrows, you understand.” Dumbledore hoped the eyebrow analogy would not raise a sore subject.

 

“I am an insomniac. Tell anyone who asks that I need to walk at night.”

 

“That may suffice. I will consider that request, but if I do grant it, I will have to stipulate that any latitude you are granted in roaming after hours will not extend to trespassing into areas you should not venture as you have last year. I understand a number of Ravenclaws still refuse to allow their windows to be opened at night for fear of you walking along the walls into their rooms.”

 

“Understood.” Gaara said, trying to avoid eye contact without broadcasting his discomfort.

 

“Now, I think that is all of the unpleasantness dealt with. Would you mind telling me a little more about your world and how you came here? I am ever so curious about what another world, similar to our own, might be like.”

 

“Not now.” Gaara said.

 

“I understand, this has all been a lot to take in. As I have offered before, if you ever have any problems or anything I can help with, I hope you will not hesitate to come and speak with me, even if all you want is to talk to someone and share a nice cup of tea.”

 

Gaara could not bring himself to thank the man who was essentially blackmailing him, so he settled for nodding and leaving.

 

“Thank you, Gaara. I really mean that. I hope you can forgive me my inadequacies in time.”

 

Gaara did not turn to address the man again, simply walking out of the office and trying not to let the shock show on his face as he went to find Draco. He couldn’t share what had just been said but he did not wish to be alone with his thoughts right now. Draco was a good distraction at times like these, or else he could track down Luna.

 

It did not take long to locate Draco, his being one of the most recognisable faces in their House so receiving directions was simple. Gaara, still overcoming his stupor, was starting to get tired of the sight before him: Draco and a number of Slytherin backers squaring off against Weasley and his friends. He thought Draco had outgrown these childish squabbles but every time Gaara turned around lately his blond friend seemed to be trying to start a fight.

 

“Everyone knows you don’t even really care about blood purity anymore, so why are you still always such an arse, Malfoy?” Ron baited him. This might have caused a stir with Draco’s Slytherin compatriots but Draco’s change of heart was widely believed these days and those Slytherins with him happened to be his moderate friends.

 

“Regardless of purity, you’re still a dirt-poor pleb who doesn’t understand his place.”

 

“You’re a ponce who cries to daddy every time he stubs his toe!”

 

“At least _my_ parents don’t make me wear hand-me-down robes or need lottery money to go on holiday.”

 

“Git!”

 

“Squib!”

 

And then the spells started flying.

 

Gaara was in no rush at this point to stop the fight, calmly walking across the courtyard to collect his stupid friend. He watched the two groups stop the fight after only a couple of poorly-aimed spells had been cast, with the Slytherins pulling Draco back and the other two-thirds of the Golden Trio standing between Ron and his quarry.

 

The two combatants seemed to calm immediately but where Ron followed his friends’ advice and began to walk away, Draco waited until his fellow Slytherins released him and then sneekily re-raised his wand and cast a last spell at Weasley’s back.

 

This brightly coloured light was deflected by none other than Professor Moody, who looked furious and immediately sent a spell back at the deathly pale Malfoy standing gormless in front of him. “Curse someone behind their back, will you?!”

 

This spell, whatever it was, was blocked by Gaara’s sand which had sped out just in time, while Gaara continued his steady approach, not wishing to start another fight and feud with a teacher.

 

“I’m sorry for my friend.” Gaara said humbly, now standing in front of Draco, his sand still floating loosely in the air.

 

“I’ve known people like him, cowards through and through. Mark my words, if I see him trying anything like that again, I’ll treat him like I did his father during the war!” Moody shouted. “Malfoy, detention with me all next week!”

 

With that, Moody limped away and Draco looked about ready to collapse with the prospect of spending a week in detentions with Alastor Moody. The Gryffindors had already vacated and the Slytherins were beginning to disperse so Gaara dragged Draco away to give him a scolding, despite being the younger of the two.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

Albus listened to the mix of angry complaints and waited until a few of them ran out of steam. Clearly every one of his staff members had axes to grind and had been storing up their frustrations until the start of term meeting so they could all scream their grievances at him simultaneously. He could hardly make heads or tails of what they were saying at him. So here he waited for a lull.

 

The complaints were mostly split between outrage over the implementation of the Triwizard Tournament, and the lack of warning they received before the big unveiling, only being told moments before the feast. He had explained earlier in the meeting and after the announcement that he had no choice in the matter, but still he had to listen to the irate professors remind him of the mortal peril he was allowing the children to be put in.

 

When everyone stopped for breath, Albus pounced on the opportunity, “Please, everyone, calm for a moment. I understand your anger, I assure you I feel the same. However, we must now decide how best to deal with the problem we have been presented with. There is nothing we can do to stop the Tournament now and we have been expressly forbidden from telling the children not to enter, so I must ask that all of you do so quietly.”

 

“Surely you understand there will nothing we can say that will stop every pupil from entering, Albus!” Minerva argued.

 

“Regrettably that is true, so any words you speak on the subject should focus on discouraging those who would be most at risk from entering, particularly the younger years.”

 

“Fourteen-year-olds participating in the Triwizard Tournament! I’ve a good mind to march down to the Ministry right now!” Madam Pomfrey huffed from her chair. She needed to sit after being the most vocal dissenter moments ago.

 

“That is why we must inform the students of the dangers that these Tasks will present and trust that they will understand the folly of seeking glory and gold when they might die.” Dumbledore said.

 

“I know that my House can be trusted to exercise a modicum of self-preservation but I’m not so certain about others.” Snape quipped, causing McGonagall to bristle.

 

“I didn’t see much common sense when I caught Malfoy trying to hex that Weasley boy behind his back earlier.” Moody spoke for the first time in the meeting.

 

“That I blame on bad influences.” Severus said, settling back against the wall. He was sulking about being forced to take Gaara back into his class.

 

“I will do what I can to ensure the safety of the children as best I can, but I can only do so much. We must all exert whatever influence we hold in the coming weeks, and after that we will have to help the unfortunate Champion to prepare for the Tasks ahead.” Dumbledore said.

 

“Before that, we have to begin work on this foolish Opening Ceremony…” Pomona chirped.

 

“Yes, I would like to see if there are any volunteers for organising the presentation…?” Albus asked.

 

No one raised their hands so Albus sighed, “Pomona, would you be willing to take the burden? Each task will need to be overseen by a member of staff so try to consider it as getting your turn out of the way, as it were.”

 

“Very well, I will accept.” Sprout said.

 

“Thank you. I have been given a list of instructions for how Minister Fudge wishes the ceremony to proceed, I will give it to you later and we can discuss what you will need to get started.”

 

“Wonderful…” Pomona said.

 

From there they continued spending most of the session discussing the Tournament and the upcoming events. They all divided up the other supplementary events, with Pomona handling the opening, Flitwick in charge of the duelling tourney (after Severus refused to be a part of any of it), Minerva reluctantly agreed to prepare the Yule Ball, Madam Hooch was to take care of the inter-school Quidditch matches, and Albus would work with the Ministry as Fudge wanted his people to handle the closing ceremony.

 

No one was happy with the situation, especially those who resented Snape’s exemption.

 

The rest of the meeting went simply enough, with each professor discussing any major changes they were making to their curriculum this year, and any students they had particular concerns about. To the relief of few, Gaara’s name was mentioned only once or twice, which was less than Luna Lovegood’s and Mafalda Lavado’s name were raised as concerns.

 

“Lavado, isn’t she an offshoot of the Weasley clan?” McGonagall said.

 

“She acts about as far from it as could be imagined, by the grace of Merlin.” Severus said.

 

In the back of the room, Sinistra was trying to set up another little betting pool to commemorate the start of the year, giving odds on which notable students might be selected and who would rack up the most detentions, and who would earn the most points for their House.

 

The meeting ended with Albus trying to slip his allowance of Gaara’s nightly wandering under everyone’s notice and having to spend five minutes defusing Severus’ temper to everyone’s amusement.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

On Monday, as Gaara and Draco approached their first Defence Against the Dark Arts class of the year, Draco’s teeth were practically chattering and his skin reverting back to the paleness it had taken when he last encountered Moody. Evidently his near-cursing at the hands of their professor and the knowledge that he would be spending a week of detention with him was causing him to have something approaching a panic attack.

 

Gaara had assured Draco, when it became clear how frightened he was of the prejudiced Dark wizard hunter yesterday, that should any harm come to him by Professor Moody’s hands, there would be no body to find.

 

Draco failed to properly appreciate the death threat.

 

The lesson was informative enough, Gaara thought, if a tad aggressive. Moody spent half of their first session together espousing his dogma of ‘constant vigilance’ and how to deal with the ‘wrong sorts’ of wizards in the most punishing manner. He clearly disliked the Slytherins, but he displayed a special level of snark for Draco and Gaara throughout the lesson.

 

The second part of the lesson moved on from the identification and treatment of Dark wizards to the basics of duelling, particularly mobility. Already Gaara was begrudgingly liking the man. Remus had been a good enough teacher but he clearly lacked Moody’s wealth of experience and skill in combat.

 

It was a shame Draco was so terrified as he might have learned a few valuable lessons from the man.

 

The lesson was concluded with what Gaara was beginning to suspect was the retired Auror’s catchphrase, “And remember all of you… constant vigilance!” The students all packed up their things and exited the classroom, already speaking favourably about their latest DADA professor.

 

“And Malfoy, I’ll be seeing you this evening.” Moody shouted over the crowd, making Draco flinch.

 

Potions followed Defence Against the Dark Arts that day and true to the headmaster’s word, Snape was no longer as openly hostile to Gaara. He had resumed ignoring the redhead, to the extent that he had to work in a three with Draco and Theodore Nott as he had been excluded from the pairings. Still, spending his time in a Potions lesson would likely help him learn the material easier.

 

Later in the week in Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall warned her class that they would sit their O.W.L.s next year and that they should not let themselves be distracted by ‘extra-curricular frivolities’. They were there to learn so any activities beyond that should be disregarded.

 

Other teachers were more subtle about their warnings and commands, though Snape went the other way, gathering groups of Slytherins in their common room and telling them outright not to enter under any circumstances. By some strange coincidence, the meeting that was to include his year group came at a time when Gaara was in the Library, meaning he had to be caught up by Draco later.

 

The absolute forbidding of the Tournament to Slytherins did not bode well for Gaara’s relationship with his Head of House after he did in fact enter, not that there was much chance of an improvement in their interactions anyway. Dumbledore had presumably told the staff of Gaara’s had special dispensation to roam the hallways at night due to his insomnia and Snape did not care for special treatment at all.

 

As was becoming an unwelcome tradition following his Arithmancy classes, Hermione struck up yet another conversation with him as he tried to subtly walk faster and faster away. This week she had progressed her new pet project regarding House Elf rights to form a new organisation called S.P.E.W. (an unfortunate acronym if ever there was one), standing for the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare.

 

She tried indoctrinating him into her group, whose only members were her and her two best friends it seemed, but while Gaara appreciated the virtue of ensuring the welfare of sentient creatures, he did not feel a vested interest in making those changes himself. Of course, this apathy together with his repeated argument that the elves seemed content in their roles swiftly led to a one-sided argument on the necessity of liberty and self-determination for all living creatures.

 

Hermione cooled off relatively quickly when she realised Gaara was not passionately involved in the debate nor would anything she said be likely to change his mind since he was not a bleeding heart, clearly. After that, she tried to move back to safe ground and lighten the topic by discussing the Weasley Twins’ latest insanity.

 

“Of course they insist that at least one of them _has_ to be chosen as Hogwarts’ Champion and then it’s _inevitable_ they’ll win the prize money. Honestly, they must be the only people silly enough to actually consider entering anymore. It’s not as if they’ve been preparing to take part, either! They just keep coming up with new practical joke ideas for their shop.

 

“Of course, their mother has told them they can’t enter, and she’s even got Ron and Ginny spying on them. I think she blames Mr Black and Professor Lupin for corrupting them, but if you ask me they were always reckless like that. Oh, we’re here. Do you want to eat lunch at the Gryffindor table today? There isn’t any rule that says you can’t-”

 

“No, thank you.” Gaara said, walking away to the comparably quiet Slytherin table.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

Draco set aside the second Saturday of the term to force Gaara to spend time with Lovegood, since as far as he could understand those two _were friends_ but Luna had cripplingly low self-esteem and Gaara was rubbish at reaching out. With the two introverts being utterly incapable of maintaining a healthy social life, it was up to Draco to make sure that Gaara did not…

 

Why did he care if Gaara had other friends? More to the point, why was he encouraging an acquaintance with a girl he openly disliked?

 

Regardless of why he was doing it, he had organised the ‘play-date’ for the two boring swots to take place in the Library. He ditched them as Gaara showed Luna into the Restricted Section with his pass (which was almost certainly not supposed to extend to his friends).

 

Maybe he was selflessly trying to encourage Gaara to build more close bonds, or perhaps he was just trying to quash the last of those absurd rumours of an improperly close friendship between Gaara and he. Maybe he wanted an afternoon to himself in his room to have a nap because Gaara had mentioned resuming their ill-fated exercise routine and he was determined to put off that horror for as long as he could.

 

In any case, he was free to sleep, or talk with his non-Gaara friends, for an entire morning while the nerds discussed some esoteric magical theory so obscure even the title escaped his memory.

 

Gaara did not seem to mind being told what to do or where to go and Luna seemed thrilled that she had been invited to spend time with Gaara, even if it had not been by Gaara himself.

 

In the evening at dinner, Professor McGonagall stood to make an announcement and she was granted complete silence as the student body waited to hear of the Triwizard Tournament, which they assumed this would be about. If the deputy headmistress had tried speaking of a revision of the school rules or gave some lesser proclamation, she would have heard herself drowned out by the collective noise of disappointed groans and renewed conversations.

 

“Good evening. As the Minister for Magic announced at the start of term, preceding the start of the Triwizard Tournament there is to be an opening ceremony and display held by the students of the host school. From tomorrow until the arrival of the two guest schools, Professor Sprout will hold practices for all students who have been selected to participate by their Head of House on Sundays and after classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Those students, from years two to six, will be notified by a parchment being left on their beds for when you return after dinner. Attendance is mandatory.”

 

Whispers broke out and besides the few who were excited at the prospect of showing off, the majority were apprehensive at the thought of the added workload and being forced to do it. Draco was chief among the latter groups, indignant at the presumption to disrupt his life for such a trifle.

 

Upon returning to their room, Draco came the close to swearing outright. On his pillow lay a neatly folded note with the Hogwarts seal on it and his name elegantly scrawled on top. Gaara was glad the note had not been on his pillow as it would have tricky to sneak it on to Draco’s bed without him seeing, much less changing the name.

 

Draco was furious at being asked to give a display for the entertainment of the visiting schools and doubtless the press like a _thespian_. He wished he could write to his father and sort the mess out but for various reasons he refrained.

 

He read through the short note, seeing where and when he was supposed to arrive tomorrow and then crumpled it up and threw it onto the floor. Gaara suspected it was already bugging the fastidious boy but Draco probably needed to keep the note and could not resist the urge to throw it somewhere other than the bin.

 

Gaara sat back in his bed and continued his homework, annotating a copy of the assigned DADA book of the year. Draco’s first week back at Hogwarts had been a difficult one, with his detentions with Moody leaving him shaking most nights as he had been forced to scrub the classroom floor and mark first year essays all while the Auror recounted tales of his dealing with Death Eaters in the last war and since.

 

Gaara had been tempted to keep Draco out of the detentions and deal with the man personally but he was still wary of starting off on the wrong foot with the combat-wizard. Plus, Draco _had_ tried to curse a schoolmate behind his back (and gotten caught doing it) and perhaps stories about what happened to Dark wizards who crossed the paths of Aurors and Light wizards like Moody would keep Draco on the straight and narrow path.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

“I’m going to have to completely rebuild the engine at this rate!” Sirius complained, wiping his grease-covered hands on his grimy jeans. He been stripping his bike for a while now, trying to remember what little he ever knew about mechanics. He decided to take a short break and stretch his aching back, and maybe bother Remus a little.

 

Remus had no interest in his bike whatsoever and was hiding downstairs. Sirius cleaned up his hands a little more and went to find him.

 

The unemployed werewolf was sat at the kitchen table penning a letter with a harsh look upon his face.

 

“Are you sending another complaint about the Tournament?” Sirius asked, washing his hands off properly in the sink.

 

“No, same recipient though. I’m writing a letter of protest against one of the Minister’s other brilliant ideas”

 

“What? He’s already having children compete in a deadly contest after nearly allowing their souls to be sucked out by dementors last year, what else can he do?”

 

“He’s got some undersecretary to propose a new anti-werewolf bill to further restrict our rights, especially trying to find work.”

 

“It’s probably because of those idiots complaining after they found out a big bad werewolf had been working in a school for a whole year without a single child being bitten.”

 

“So, you’re saying it’s all my fault?” Remus said.

 

“I’m saying this is all Snivellus’ fault. He’s the prick who told everyone, I’d bloody put money on it. Anyway, we can fight this. I’ll hire a couple extra lawyers and get them started on blocking this. I bet Fudge won’t want to fight both this and the people still contesting the Tournament.”

 

“Thank you for offering, but before you put more lawyers on retainer, did you go to the appointment I set up for you at Gringotts?”

 

“Of course I did.” Sirius said.

 

“And what did the accountant say?”

 

“He said something along the lines of I would go broke if I don’t start raising funds. My father’s debts, my inaction over the past decade and a few sour investments have left the Black accounts in a dire state, apparently. Plus my recent spending… Well, anyway, he said if I don’t bolster the family fortune I will run out of gold in about a decade. Maybe less if I keep starting fights with the Ministry.”

 

“You’d best listen to him. Myself and a few other werewolves are writing to the Ministry and then to individual members of the Wizengamot to try and influence them against this bill.”

 

“I’ll start writing as well, then, if you won’t accept a lawyer or two.” Sirius said, falling into the chair opposite Remus. “I have to go back to Gringotts tomorrow to discuss creating a new portfolio with the accountant.”

 

“With enthusiasm like that, have you considered just getting a job?” Remus said.

 

“None of the fun jobs will hire me. And I’m not sure I would like doing all of that… _work_. I’m more of a man of leisure, it turns out.”

 

“A lazy bugger, you mean.”

 

“Precisely. I need to make some money, though. I have to be able to support the boys, and a layabout werewolf too.”

 

“…Speaking of dislikeable personality traits, we can add forgettable to Gaara.” Remus sighed.

 

“I never would have pegged Gaara as the forgetful sort. He didn’t forget your birthday, did he?”

 

“My birthday is not for months and you know that, Sirius. No, in fact, it’s the opposite. I gave him an expanded bag for Christmas last year and as far I saw, he used it for about a week before he started wearing his gourd again. He said at the time that having to call the sand out of the bag took longer than his gourd, but I found it upstairs in one of his drawers earlier. The little bugger forgot to take it to school with him.”

 

“Well, does he really need it when he’s got my magnificent trunk to put all of his things in?”

 

“Yes, and I greatly appreciated your giving him a gift almost identical to the one I had to scrimp and save to give him for Christmas.”

 

“I’m sure he really did just forget it. Why don’t you send it to him?”

 

“I suppose I will, and I can take another stab at convincing Gaara to steer clear of the Tournament.”

 

“You don’t really think Bandit would be crazy enough to enter do you. I’ve been taking comfort in the thought that both he and Prongslet would think it was all ridiculous and not want to take part.”

 

“They might shy away from trouble but we both know trouble will find then anyway.” Remus said.

 

“It finds all of us.” Sirius said, scratching out one swear word and penning another on his letter to the Minister for Magic.

 

“You say that, but you’ve been positively dormant since your acquittal.”

 

“I was looking after Gaara and Harry.” Sirius fired back.

 

“Not all the time. I remember when you were supposed to be babysitting Harry, back in the day, and you had girls coming over to your flat at all hours.”

 

“Until _someone_ told on me and Lily said I wasn’t allowed to anymore!”

 

“It wasn’t me. Do you think Lily never noticed the girls’ underwear all over your place when they came to pick Harry up, or that self-satisfied smirk you always had after a fun night?”

 

Sirius smirked at the memory before wiping his face. “I just haven’t been feeling up to it. Chalk it up to the dementors if you like but I just don’t have any energy for that sort of thing right now.”

 

“I suppose it’s left its marks, hasn’t it.”

 

“I’m just lucky I didn’t end up stark-raving mad like Bellatrix. I practically heard her mind snap when I was in there. I’ve got more important things to worry about now, anyhow.”

 

“The boys.”

 

“The boys. They both grew up too much and too fast so I’ve got to do what I can so they can experience just a bit of a childhood.”

 

“It’s hard to imagine Gaara ever being a child.” Remus said.

 

“I’m not sure he ever got the chance. What with… everything, you know.”

 

“I suppose not. I know my burden made life harder, and that was a secret from almost everybody. The way Gaara tells it, everyone knew he was a monster and his problems did not revolve around the full moon.”

 

“I think we’re straying into overly depressing territory and it’s too early in the day for a responsible adult to start the heavy drinking.” Sirius said.

 

“Responsible adult?”

 

“Shut up, Moony.”

 

“You had your first meeting with your solicitor the other day, as well, didn’t you? How’d that go?”

 

“Well, the first with _that_ solicitor, yeah. She said as long as we can keep it quiet, until the last minute, we might get away with it. It’s the only way we can hope to manage it, if Fudge doesn’t get a chance to prepare any impediments.”

 

“Really?” Remus said.

 

Sirius smiled, “Yes. If we can sneak it in under the radar while Fudge and his lackeys are busy with that Tournament of his, she says I should have no problems with formally adopting Harry and Gaara in the next six months.”


	5. Same Old Burdens

Monday morning came without much fanfare as the looming Triwizard Tournament and preparations for the opening ceremony continued to roil amongst the student body. Gaara enjoyed the comparably quieter mornings like these, regardless of the cause for such lulls. Draco was still in a sullen mood, which did displease Gaara somewhat, but for lack of any remedy, all he could do, he decided, was not make it any worse by misstepping with good intentions.

 

The morning post came and as usual Draco received another letter from his father, presumably another barrage of abuse directed at the Tournament that was now forcing his son to participate in some humiliating public spectacle. Draco skim-read and tucked it in his robe pockets to file away later with the rest of his stored correspondence. Gaara also got an owl this morning, delivering to him a letter bearing Remus’ neat handwriting.

 

Nestled inside of the wrapping were both a letter and a small familiar bag. The letter explained in a, what he could only assume was forced, polite manner that Gaara had forgotten his expanding bag at Grimmauld Place and that he had better keep a more watchful eye on his precious personal possessions. The rest of the letter was filled with the typical well wishes so he did not bother to reply, simply slipping the bag into his own pocket and ripping up the letter.

 

When the owl did not leave, Gaara gave it some nearby bacon, ignoring the bacon’s previous owner’s alarm, and shooed it away.

 

After breakfast he had a few minutes before his first class of the day so he ran down to their room and tried to stash the unnecessary bag away until he could work out a suitable use for it. Unfortunately, his chosen place to leave it happened to be in Sirius’ expanded trunk and due to the nature of the dimensional magics involved in each of their internal expansions, the bag simply would not fit inside of the trunk, despite appearing to be easily small enough to fit. It was only thanks to Gaara’s extensive experience in the past year of researching spatial magic that he recognised the issue and did not cause irreparable damage trying to force one inside of the other.

 

Draco arrived at the room just in time to see Gaara using the expanding bag to store his socks compactly and shook his head at his friend’s ludicrousness. He shouldn’t be surprised by now as this latest act was just as ridiculous as Gaara himself.

 

As the day wore on, Draco’s mood improved now that his detentions with Professor Moody were over and his evenings, not otherwise monopolised by the opening ceremony, could be spent anywhere but in close proximity to Mad Eye Moody. Father had a lot to say on the subject of Dumbledore’s latest appointment in his letters.

 

During that day’s DADA lesson, the campaign against Draco and Gaara went on as Moody loudly remarked that he did not know whether Gaara’s total magical ineptitude was a greater danger to his friends or to his enemies. Gaara did not take as much offence from Moody as he did with Snape because while the scarred old warrior was clearly prejudiced against Slytherins and these two in particular, he did at least concede that Gaara’s battle prowess, beyond spellcasting, was exemplary. And vice versa, he admitted Draco was amongst the better spellcasters in the class (though not the top) while deriding his lacking physical abilities.

 

After DADA let out and Draco had to reassure himself that he wasn’t _that_ unfit, since Gaara wasn’t going to do it, Granger approached Gaara with a smile that he was getting tired of seeing. It never ended well for him.

 

“Good morning, Gaara.” Hermione said, adding a curt, “Hello, Draco,” for good measure.

 

Gaara nodded and Draco ignored her in favour of recollecting his recent caloric intake and exercise routines. His conclusions sadly were, in that order: too much and not enough.

 

“I was wondering if you might like to come to my birthday party this evening?” She said.

 

“You’re not invited, Malfoy.” Ron chimed in from behind her.

 

“How ever will I console myself?” Draco murmured distractedly, still fretting over his perceived doughy physique.

 

As Ron tried to pull Draco into yet another bitter argument, and Draco instead focused on developing his burgeoning body complex, Gaara said, “No, thank you.”

 

“Please, do think about it.” Hermione said.

 

“Yeah, it will be fun. And… you can even bring Malfoy, if you really like.” Harry added.

 

Gaara was impressed by the extent of their offer, since even this latest curious attempt to get to know him would have only recently been enough to allow those words to pass through Potter’s lips.

 

“Yes, that would be fine.” Hermione said slowly, glancing over at where Draco and Ron where still teetering on the edge of a full-blown fight.

 

“I do not want to attend.” Gaara said finally before walking away. When Draco noticed his exit he trailed off after him, promising to resume this battle of words later when he could really devote his energy to it.

 

“I don’t know why you wanted to invite _him_ , of all people, Herm.” Ron said.

 

“Seemed like a better chance of getting Gaara to agree.” Harry replied.

 

“That’s who I meant. Why would you want him there?” Ron directed his question at Hermione.

 

“Well, I want to get to know him a little better. But also Harry wants him there.” She said.

 

As Ron turned to Harry, wondering how he kept getting left out of these schemes, Harry continued, “The only way we’ll ever get to know what Gaara’s keeping a secret is if he wants to tell us.”

 

“Harry’s right. If we befriend him, Gaara might confide in us.” Hermione said.

 

Ron looked to and fro between them, “But..”

 

“Plus I think it upsets Sirius when me and Gaara don’t get along.”

 

“And nobody finds it strange that a teenager has to keep a grown man from getting upset? And doing it by being friends with a snake!”

 

“There’s nothing wrong with being friends with a Slytherin, Ronald.” Hermione scolded him.

 

“So when’s the sleepover with Parkinson and Bullstrode?” Ron shot back.

 

“Well, some are different.” She said.

 

“Like Malfoy?”

 

“I’m not sure. Malfoy’s still a prig, but he’s not been as bad since Gaara arrived, has he?” Harry mused.

 

“Still seems like an arse to me.” Ron said.

 

“I agree with Harry, actually. He’s still not my favourite person but he used to be much worse.”

 

“I think you two are just too nice.”

 

“I’ve been called worse things.” Harry said.

 

Gaara continued his aggravated walk, heedless of Draco’s flustered attempts to keep up. Despite the frequency of such encounters, Draco was quite worked up after that little verbal sparring match with Weasley but Gaara did not seem to be in any sort of reasonable or talkative mood to help him calm down.

 

Gaara was in a foul mood all of a sudden. Talking with his least favourite Gryffindor trio was always a good start towards that, but their raising the subject of tonight cemented his distemper. He had almost been able to forget about this evening with everything that had been happening around the school and because of his promised solution to the issue.

 

He had been prematurely reminded of the full moon to occur this evening and he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything but the possibility of this plan failing until then. All assurance he felt that his animagus training would indeed shield him from the ruinous effects of the moon fled.

 

After ditching Draco, Gaara sequestered himself for the rest of the afternoon to have one final practice of his animagus abilities before the big moment. Draco had asked to come and observe but like all the identical requests Luna had made, he was denied.

 

During dinner, at which Gaara ate even more sparingly than he usually did, Hermione tried to approach him to extend another invitation to her birthday party, but by the time she had walked from the Gryffindor table over to the Slytherin side of the room, he had left the Great Hall. Hermione ended up on the receiving end of a dozen Slytherin glares when she stopped right by the snakes’ table with no apparent motive. Draco looked up from where he had been in deep conversation with one of his few other friends, which interestingly were some of the least offensive Slytherins she’d met, but ignored her in short order.

 

He finished his own dinner at a much more leisurely pace after Granger had wandered back to her own side of the hall before following Gaara back to their room. Earlier, Draco had offered, when he was reminded by a Ravenclaw swot’s well-timed conversation that it was the full moon that night, to keep watch in case Gaara’s transformation occurred despite his preparations. Gaara agreed, reluctantly, that it was a good idea to have a guard ready to prevent anyone discovering him should his animagus training prove inadequate to the task of circumventing his lunar curse.

 

Of course, the truth was that Draco was more curious to see Gaara’s tanuki form again than he would ever care to admit.

 

In the room, Gaara was calmly reading on his bed, which did not fool Draco. By now, he could tell (more or less) when Gaara was stressed over something, which was a very frequent occurrence. That was part of the reason it had been so difficult to discern this particular mood of his, it was so common on his face. It was the same story for his annoyed face, which was ever-present. Like now, for instance…

 

“You’ve got a little time left.” Draco mentioned, settling onto his chair and cracking open his Potions book.

 

Gaara didn’t bother nodding, he just continued to read his own textbook, this one on the political history of magical communities around the world.

 

Half an hour later, Gaara snapped his book shut and readied himself for the moment of transformation, or not in this case. He had consulted with an astronomy book earlier in the day to check the exact moment of lunar rising, and the clock indicated that moment was only sixty-three seconds away. He could feel the sensation welling up inside of him already, preparing him for the change that until now had been inevitable.

 

He knew what he had to do when the time was upon him, the feeling he was looking for when his animagus abilities were activated. An itching, burning feeling under his skin, behind his eyes and in his nail beds spread and almost overwhelmed his senses, causing pain comparable to the night of his first transformation eleven months ago.

 

Draco watched Gaara sit up on the bed and then slump back down in a perfectly anti-climactic fashion as nothing visibly happened.

 

“Is that it?” Draco asked, disappointed both that it had worked and that it had worked in such a spectacularly boring fashion.

 

In the aftermath, Gaara had a bit of a headache but he was still as human as he had ever been, he noted as he examined himself to make sure that there were indeed no changes to be found.

 

“Yes.” Gaara answered irritably as the headache persisted and the itching continued to hum away in the back of his senses.

 

The pair lapsed into silence as Draco continued with his homework and Gaara tried to sleep or meditate, anything that didn’t require making a noise or looking at any bright lights. He tried not to let the incessant scratching of Draco’s pen get on his nerves, more than it already was but it was fast becoming a losing battle.

 

After twenty minutes of silence, Draco suddenly spoke up, “So, with you controlling your transformations now, will that mean I don’t get to see your other form again? I mean, I don’t _want_ to see it or anything like that; it’s just a natural curiosity. A scholarly interest, really. Magical tanuki are rare and you are so different from them, in that form, from what I’ve seen, so it’s a good chance to research the differences between our two worlds, you see…”

 

Draco had trailed off when instead of Gaara’s mild contempt, which he had expected for bringing up that form, he had found Gaara’s face painted with the rage he typically seemed to reserve for _other_ people who weren’t protected from his scorn like Draco was supposed to be.

 

In his head at that moment, Gaara was calculating exactly how hard he could hit his civilian best friend in the head without killing him. On the side of the head, he could exert enough force to send him flying with only a concussion and minor bleeding. That would feel so good right now, to knock that stupid look off of his face and crush him into…

 

All of a sudden, the wave of anger that had been fuelling Gaara’s increasingly violent imagination fled him, and he realised how altered his mind was in those moments. Why had he wanted to kill Draco?

 

Why did he still want to beat Draco into unconsciousness?

 

In shock at his rampant thoughts, Gaara stood and stumbled to the door so quickly his previously crossed legs could hardly keep up. He needed to distance himself from people before he did something regrettable. If he stayed in their room, Gaara did not know if he would be able to resist the temptation to murder his friend. Since it would feel so good…

 

As he ran to a secluded area of the castle, where he was least likely to run into anybody, Gaara tried to clear his mind. He had become an expert at dampening his rage in the aftermath of the Suna-Konoha War but this was different. This was driven not by his own psychosis (as Kankuro was fond of describing it) but by Shukaku’s corrosive chakra flooding his system and infecting his mind with its elemental malice. He could feel it coursing through his chakra network, unstoppable and potent.

 

Why this surge happened during the full moon and why it had previously caused his transformations and, now that he had effectively blocked that change, this inescapable rage, he did not know. Such questions, which had bothered him for a year, would have to wait since he was hardly in a fit state to deliberate this world’s peculiar effects on his system.

 

As he came to the top floor of the castle where he knew the professors patrolled less frequently, he reconsidered this direction when another bout of hot rage rose in his blood and his mind recalled the two Houses located at the zenith of the castle and he remembered all of the fearful looks from Ravenclaws and scowls from Gryffindors that he had received since he was enrolled in this _flimsy_ school. They were all weak, but together, they would be a good fight. Together they might battle him and he could feel alive again.

 

It would prove his…

 

Gaara looked to the window but then he realised, in his rush to leave the room, he had left his gourd with Draco in the dungeons. He could run down the side of the castle but he did not know if he could make it far enough before the bloodlust returned. He did not want to risk turning around and doing all of the terrible things that seemed entirely justified in the heat of these episodes.

 

He was almost to the western corridor’s window, in one of his lucid moments when he recognised the dire necessity of his hasty exit, and fate played yet another game with him. He was happened upon by those meddlesome, ignorant children who had caused him nothing but consternation since his arrival.

 

Harry had interrupted the modest celebration in the Gryffindor common room when he felt an otherwise indefinable heavy sense of dread wash over him. It was nothing like the presence of a dementor, this was more akin to the feeling he got the moment Uncle Vernon pulled into the driveway when Harry had no sensory way of knowing he was home, but he had known somehow that his uncle was there and he was mad. Harry related this sensation to those present at Hermione’s party and having learned to trust Harry’s strange intuitions, or at least trust their veracity, Ron, Hermione, and Neville all followed him out of the tower to search for the source.

 

“And there’s really no chance it’s another basilisk in the pipes, right?” Ron had asked repeatedly.

 

“I’m quite sure, Ron.” Hermione told him each time.

 

Ron rolled his eyes when they found Gaara wandering around. _Of course_ it was him.

 

“Wotcha, Gaara,” Ron said, “what are you doing up here so late.”

 

“Ron!” Hermione scolded him, “He was coming to my party, right, Gaara?” She said, hopefully. The prospect of finally getting through that thick shell of Gaara’s was a wonderful birthday treat. Dashed, shortly thereafter.

 

“No.” Gaara said, turning to leave immediately now that his anger was getting all the worse with the presence.

 

“Git…” Ron muttered loudly, seeing Hermione’s latest act of benevolence being brushed off so callously. “Oy!”

 

Hermione did not need Ron to fight her battles, much less start battles in the name of her honour so she gave him a smack for good measure. This stopped whatever had been on the tip of his tongue but it did nothing to stop Harry from walking right up behind Gaara and trying to put a hand on his shoulder. She did not know if that attempt had been the start of a comforting heart-to-heart or another confrontation, either way it did not seem to matter.

 

Gaara had turned at the last moment and spoken clearly to them all, “If you continue to bother me, I will kill you all.”

 

The quartet were shocked by this open hostility. Harry and Neville were the first to draw their wands, while Ron’s first instinct was to thump this bastard personally. Hermione simply could not understand what had prompted such a vicious threat when she had been nothing but kind to the boy. Maybe he was going through something?

 

Gaara had regained his sanity again and knew he had mere second to retreat before someone was stupid enough to cast the first spell and prematurely start the massacre. Forgoing any sort of casual retreat, Gaara started running down the stairs. He would deal with whatever fallout there might be another day.

 

And if they raised a fuss, he would murder each and every…

 

Run faster!

 

At the main staircase now but with the sound of footfalls echoing after him, the Gryffindor party having given chase, Gaara had to persuade his better self that this rage was in fact unfounded and that the trouble of disposing of their bodies would outweigh the satisfaction of killing them. Plus then Sirius needed to be dealt with.

 

In the middle of his insane train of thought, Gaara nearly collided with Draco who was ascending the stairs towards him. Draco had followed after Gaara left the room without explanation but he’d had no idea where to look so had spent the past twenty minutes running about the castle looking for his wayward roommate.

 

“Gaara, what’s going on?” Draco asked when Gaara had come to an abrupt halt.

 

Gaara glared at him; this nosey brat, how dare he stand in his way!

 

Gaara shook his head, he had only a moment to decide what to do. If he stayed here, he would be found by the pursuing Gryffindors, if he left Draco, would follow, either way people would die.

 

A thought occurred to him when his mind ran through the events of the night, including the probable cause, and Gaara did something he had hoped he would never have to do ever again. Glancing back up the stairs to make sure no one but Draco would see, he gritted his teeth and drew upon the same magic that had forestalled his transformation at the beginning of this night.

 

As soon as he grasped the edge of his animagus power, the influence of the full moon washed back over him and the wrath he had been struggling against faded as his body shifted. Humiliating as it was to opt into this form, Gaara breathed a sigh of relief when not only was his capability to kill reduced but so was his desire. Now that his mind was clear of those terrifying impulses, he could truly bemoan his lunar affliction. He now had a choice: he could spend his full moon nights as either a homicidal maniac or as a ridiculous animal.

 

At least the former was nostalgic.

 

Now all he wanted to do was return to the room and spend the night asleep instead of having to acknowledge this grim reality, but before they could leave, there was one obstacle remaining. That one obstacle came down the stairs in four forms and with three raised wands between them.

 

“What are _you_ doing here, Malfoy?” Weasley demanded, narrowly avoiding pointing his wand directly at his mortal enemy.

 

“None of your business, Weaselby.” Draco shot back automatically before quickly looking down to where his friend-turned-tanuki was standing. Maybe he could convince the Gryffindorks that the strange animal with him was his pet that he had snuck into the school. Gaara would be upset with him for it later but for now it might work. Except, there was no strange animal to explain away when he looked down, just the polished stone floor.

 

“What’s that, by your legs?” Neville asked, trying to peer around Draco to see what was hiding behind him but seeing nothing but a shadow.

 

“None of _your_ business, either, Longbottom.”

 

Hermione tried edging around the back of the group, suspecting that Malfoy was meeting with a house elf in the middle of the night. Why and which elf he had been meeting with, she couldn’t even begin to guess.

 

“Did you see Gaara come through here?” She asked as she continued her slow circling. “He was… upset, I think.”

 

“I’m looking for him as well, if you must know.” Draco sniffed, trying to act casually so they might return to whence they came and he could get what he assumed was hiding behind him back to their room.

 

“Surprised you let him out of your sight. Need to keep that guy on a shorter leash.” Ron said, wishing he had a chance to retaliate to Gaara’s heinous threat.

 

“Bugger off, ginger.” Draco said before turning and scurrying down the stairs at a surprising speed for someone not obviously running away.

 

Draco was mindful of not walking too fast down the stairs or taking too many steps at a time as Gaara was struggling to stay ahead of him on his two back legs and his tail precariously pointed upwards to keep within Draco’s profile.

 

“Ginger? Is that the best you can come with, Malfoy?” Ron called after him, tempted to use his already drawn wand to hex the posh snake down the stairs.

 

“Hermione, did you see what was hiding behind him?” Harry asked.

 

“No, just the shadow. I think it was a house elf.”

 

“A house elf?” Neville asked.

 

“Why’s Malfoy meeting with house elves in the middle of the night?” Harry wondered aloud.

 

“Who knows. You don’t suppose it’s Dobby, do you?” Ron said.

 

“No. That’s one elf we can rule out, I think. He wouldn’t go within a mile of any Malfoy, not after how he quit.” Harry smiled, remembering Lucius Malfoy being thrown on his ass by Dobby.

 

“Don’t tell me he’s up to something…” Neville said.

 

“Malfoy’s are always up to something; my dad told me that in first year.” Ron said. “You don’t think we should follow him, do you?”

 

“No, let’s just go back to the party. Anyway, I’m more interested in how Gaara’s involved.” Harry asked.

 

“He _was_ acting oddly earlier, that’s for certain.” Hermione said.

 

“I don’t know, seemed pretty normal to me.” Ron grouched.

 

“He threatened to kill us!” Hermione said.

 

“He’s always doing that.” Ron said.

 

“Ron, Gaara has never threatened to kill us.” Hermione said.

 

“He’s done it loads of times!” He exclaimed, adding, “And the way he always looks at us; he definitely wants bad things to happen to us.”

 

“He might just have a scary face. My gran’s a bit like that. Once made a delivery boy cry because a parcel she was expecting came a day early.” Neville said.

 

“Next time you see him, try telling him he reminds you of your gran, see how he reacts.” Harry said, smirking. Neville paled at the mental image.

 

“So where did he go, then?” Ron said as they started back up the stairs to the tower before they were found out in the corridors during the night.

 

“Probably went down to the dungeons or something and got Draco to cover for him.” Harry said.

 

“Bloody psycho.” Ron said.

 

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it.” Hermione reasoned.

 

“Let’s forget about Gaara and just enjoy ourselves. We’ve still got forty minutes until McGonagall comes round for lights out.” Harry said as they reached the Fat Lady portrait.

 

In Slytherin, Gaara was angry but in a much more manageable way. Even if he was being influenced by that same monumental rage from before, he would have been in no position to act upon it with his tiny claws and fluffy tail. Still, he was pissed; he was stuck transforming unless he wanted to go on a murderous rampage.

 

As he paced back and forth across the floor, Draco watched him from across the room and tried not to laugh at how absurdly serious Gaara’s fluffy face was.

 

“I’m sure you’ll work out what went wrong for next month.” He said, trying to soothe the distressed tanuki.

 

Gaara looked over to him before sighing heavily and climbing onto his own bed and crawling under the covers. No better time to sleep than to escape from a disagreeable reality, like now.

 

“‘Night.” Draco called, readying himself for bed as well and dousing the lamp.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

Gaara awoke as his body automatically shifted back to human, the full moon’s mysterious effect over for another month. Draco was still asleep so Gaara did not waste a single moment before sitting up and getting into a more comfortable meditative position. He had been avoiding doing this for a while now, but now he had no choice.

 

In his mindscape, the winds were tearing past as fast as they ever had, his mind particularly troubled over the danger he put Draco in last night, as well as everyone else in the castle. Into the cave he marched, trying to formulate a strategy to pull some information out of his infuriatingly unhelpful inner demon. As he reached the modified seal, he wondered why he was bothering with strategising when he had seldom managed to make any use of that beast, other than as a source of raw power.

 

The one-tailed beast roared and cackled with laughter as soon as Gaara walked into view, delighted by the situation it had witnessed the night before. Gaara had to endure the customary half hour of mocking before he could even get a word in.

 

“So, do you finally want my advice on tick removal? How to style your tail?” Shukaku cackled from his torturous seal.

 

“What do you know about this?”

 

“I know everything, didn’t you know. Mother knows best.” That got Shukaku roaring with laughter again.

 

“Your chakra was running through my chakra network last night. Why are you affected by the full moon here?”

 

“Why, indeed!?”

 

“You know the truth.”

 

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.”

 

“And you know something about this world, too.”

 

“It’s the same answer.” Shukaku smirked this time.

 

“They are related.” Gaara concluded. “How?”

 

“Not at all, but they are.” Shukaku was not making sense but Gaara knew he was dancing around a point.

 

“Where are we?” If he rephrased a question enough times, sometimes the demon tanuki would inadvertently provide an answer.

 

“We’re in the shadow of our world. Or its reflection.” Shukaku mused, looking quizzical, “Or maybe it’s sister.”

 

“Yes, the universes are too similar to not be related in some manner...”

 

“And then there’s the husk, floating up there. This seal is a pain in the ass but that thing up there shouldn’t be there.”

 

“Husk.”

 

“Yeah, ol’ daddy ten.”

 

“What?”

 

“After all we’ve been through, I try and I try to help you grown as a _little_ person, but I can only do so much!” Shukaku pretended to weep, and then started whining in a high pitched voice that his precious baby boy never paid him any attention any more.

 

The ichibi would be useless from that point onwards so Gaara did not wait around to hear any more attempts at humour and emerged from his mind to find Draco buzzing around the room, trying not to make any noise (and failing).

 

“Good morning.” He greeted his friend.

 

“Morning!” Draco said, surprised when his friend, who had been sleeping (meditating?) until then, suddenly spoke. He was unsure what to say about last night, with how strange Gaara had been acting and then how he had transformed halfway through anyway. This boded ill for everyone except Luna who would be thrilled to hear the news.

 

Gaara did not want to raise the uncomfortable subject so he ignored the awkward silence and started preparing for the day as well.

 

Draco knew this tactic all too well by now so he was the one to break the silence, “What happened last night? Did the animagus transformation not work?”

 

“It did but there was an unexpected side effect. I will need to continue researching the subject.”

 

“A side effect? Shame. And just when you could finally focus on your other research project.” Draco sighed, unable to actually say the words ‘go back to your home.’

 

“Yes, I suppose it is a shame.” Gaara also sighed, knowing that his research for that other subject was more or less stalled and required the input of the man blackmailing him into entering the tournament next month.

 

“So was the side effect just a temporary change?”

 

“No. It is not important. There is a month until the next full moon. Enough time to solve this problem.”

 

“If you say so.” Draco was unconvinced but, other than peculiar behaviour, Gaara did not seem to have been harmed by last night’s misadventure so Draco tried to let it slide until he could weasel it out of him later.

 

On the way up to breakfast, Luna, who had somehow found herself in the Dungeons early in the morning, joined them on the short walk and was desperate for information on the night’s activities. She did an admirable job, Draco thought, of concealing her pleasure at hearing of the failed attempt to prevent the transformations from happening.

 

“This means you will be able to transform at any time of the month but you cannot prevent the lunar changes.” Luna summarised, still keeping a straight face. Gaara did not answer so Draco confirmed her conclusions but remarked that Gaara was as likely to volunteer to transform as a Weasley was to turn down charity.

 

Luna was adamant that it was her turn with Gaara next month despite Gaara’s reproachful look in her direction.

 

At the entrance to the Great Hall, Luna peeled off to go to her own table while Draco and Gaara sat in their usual spots, starting their breakfasts with gusto since it had been a busy night and they were hungry.

 

During breakfast, Gaara was reminded that normal people weren’t used to his death threats when he noticed Harry, Hermione and Ron entering the Great Hall and paying him a lot of attention.

 

“That lot are going to be a pain today.” Draco said in between mouthfuls of bacon.

 

“I expect so.” Gaara agreed.

 

“Did you hear about the second floor men’s lavatory yesterday?” Draco asked, conspicuously changing the subject.

 

Gaara tried not to despair at Draco’s incurable gossip-mongering ways.

 

“Someone, meaning those Weasley twins, managed to remove all of the toilets and sinks and replace them with decorative fountains. It’s impressive, I suppose, in its own way, because the fixtures would have been enchanted to be charm resistant. They must have taken them all out by hand and then installed the new ones. Must have taken hours.”

 

Gaara looked over to find one of the ginger twins wearing a toilet seat around his neck while the other one was brandishing a less than regal sceptre made of a length of pipe with a tap at the end. McGonagall was headed in their direction already so the boastful boys would most likely be in detention for the foreseeable future.

 

“Fools.” Gaara said after they waved at him.

 

“Quite.” Draco said, continuing, “And you’ll never guess which professor has secretly started drinking again.” Draco whispered conspiratorially. Gaara tuned him out, instead trying to observe the Golden Trio who were, in turn, watching him.

 

Gaara would have liked to have asked Draco’s opinion on approaching this issue with the Gryffindors but he didn’t want to talk about his anger problem from last night. Plus, Draco was more interested in chatting about which seventh-year Slytherin had been caught stealing from a housemate’s room last week.

 

“It’s a big scandal, especially because the thieved belonging wasn’t money but something much more valuable….” Draco went on.

 

During the day, the Gryffindors gave him a wide berth, which Gaara considered to be an improvement. They did not approach him during breakfast, nor at lunch, and Hermione even left him alone after Arithmancy.

 

During the evening, when Draco had reluctantly been attending another opening ceremony practice, Gaara had begun reading about his animagus difficulties after sending a brief note to Sirius outlining it. He did not expect Sirius or Remus to know anything about his demon-fuelled problems, but if they knew anything more about animagi that they had failed to disclose before then, he wanted to hear it now.

 

Draco was always exhausted after he returned from these practices, which was the only aspect of the top secret activity that had managed to peak Gaara’s curiosity. Draco had tried teasing him about it, trying to draw out some sign of frustration, but Gaara honestly did not care about the ceremony, beyond what could be encouraging Draco to exercise.

 

The next day, Potter finally decided to try approaching him during lunch, concern written all over his face, so Gaara had left early and hidden near his next class.

 

Sirius had replied to him with the anticipated lack of answers but he had mentioned hearing from Harry about some sort of spat between Gaara and he, without any specifics, so Gaara was cautious to avoid any interactions for the time being. Potter was either looking for a fight or to reconcile, and neither appealed to him at the moment.

 

Silence, after all, was golden.


	6. Same Old Pomp

Draco stormed into their room covered in a fine sheen of sweat and snatched an apple out of the bowl on the side. He chomped into the juicy flesh with every bit of righteous fury he felt following the latest practice session in which he had been forced to participate. About halfway through the Golden Delicious, Draco yet again bemoaned this travesty and flopped into his chair to finish his snack and rest his aching feet.

 

“Before you ask, I still can’t say anything about the ceremony.” Draco drawled teasingly.

 

Gaara looked up from his book, noticing for the first time that Draco had returned. He looked tired. He must have been at another practice.

 

Disinterested, Gaara returned to his book.

 

Draco had made a final stand against the tyranny of Albus Dumbledore the week before, attempting to refuse the event altogether, having even spent a few evenings joining Gaara in the library following the disastrous full moon to look up legal precedents for disobeying Ministerial directives while Gaara did his own thing. By the end, he had a stack of papers and a stronger sense of entitlement than anybody had seen in him for years.

 

Dumbledore had not had time to see him and had referred him to Professor McGonagall, who was not interested in his research findings or his cogent arguments, she just told him he had to do it and to get ready for that evening’s practice. When he tried one last feeble refusal, she scolded him in her harsh Scottish brogue and he wilted under her fierce determination.

 

He had returned to their room that night with his tail between his legs and had not wanted to talk about it, as Gaara recalled.

 

“Father is still angry, you know.” Draco said, too exhausted to stand again after settling into his seat.

 

Gaara glanced up at him.

 

“He keeps insisting I reschedule my meeting with Dumbledore. I tried telling him it’s useless but then he just starts up on how simple it would be to stop it on my end and how much grief the Minister is giving him at the moment.”

 

“He’s frustrated and powerless.” Gaara said.

 

“Well, yes, I suppose…” Draco was still uncomfortable speaking against his father so openly. They lapsed into silence, punctuated by the sound of Draco’s breathing evening out as he recovered after the moderate exercise. “What’s worse is that _she_ was there waiting for me again after we finished.” Draco continued, scowling.

 

“That Lavato girl?”

 

“Lavado, yes. Keeps waiting for me. It’s disturbing.”

 

“Indeed.” Gaara said, not overly worried about the forward girl.

 

“Mother always warned me about social climbers. When one considers she’s climbing from an offshoot of the Weasley family, I think she has a long way to go before she can dream of being on my level.” Draco smirked haughtily.

 

“She seems to want your attention.”

 

“Of course she does. Little leech has been making the rounds, from what I’ve heard. Her attentions didn’t stop with her year group, either. She’s got a list of the five wealthiest boys in Slytherin and tried getting close to each of them. Unfortunately I’m the closest to her age, and my family is the richest by far…” If Draco was expecting to see some measure of awe or envy on Gaara’s face, he was disappointed.

 

“So she has taken to following you.”

 

“Well, at first she tried to ingratiate herself with me, but when that didn’t work this stalking started.”

 

“Have you told anyone?”

 

“You mean a teacher?” Draco scoffed. “Of course not. It’s only to be expected that the most eligible bachelors in Hogwarts garner a little unwanted attention. Just because I happen to be amongst them, I can’t go bothering a professor about it.”

 

Gaara noticed Draco’s inflating ego and wondered whether it would be helpful or harmful to burst it. He decided to let him have this personal victory, small as it was, since he had been having such a difficult start to the year in other regards. Gaara could do little else to help him, beyond having his apples replenished on a regular basis.

 

Of course, Gaara had troubles of his own. Beyond having to come up with some sort of plan or remedy for the next lunar cycle in a few weeks time, he had also gotten a troubling letter from Sirius yesterday morning. Sirius had warned him that the Ministry was trying to cause trouble again and was arranging a ‘final debriefing interview’ to be held at the castle.

 

Gaara had wanted to assume that the previous home visit had been the final Ministry imposition after the overblown matter of the World Cup Final. Even though Draco did not know the full story from the World Cup, he was offended on Gaara’s behalf and they each commiserated with the other on the injustices perpetrated by the Ministry of Magic.

 

Draco had offered to come along to the interview, as moral support/backup, or contact his father for legal representation to be sent, but Gaara assured him that if he had need of a solicitor, Sirius could provide one. However, he wouldn’t need any backup in this meeting as he was confident in his ability to stump a petty functionary from the Ministry of Magic.

 

The platinum blond was concerned that Gaara was being overconfident but nothing he said convinced the redhead to accept help so he forced himself not to worry over it.

 

“When is the meeting?” Draco asked.

 

“During lunch tomorrow. It shouldn’t last long.”

 

“Lunch? That’s… a shame.” Draco said. Of course, he was not referring to the nutritional deficit but the fact that Gaara would not be there to scare off his stalker. Ms. Lavado, like a number of first years who had heard the plethora of stories surrounding Gaara, was too intimidated to approach (read: accost) her target when the redhead was near him. Draco was not too proud to use his friend as a shield from this overly forward young woman.

 

Gaara didn’t think it was so bad, at least this way he would not have to miss any lessons while having his time wasted at the interview. He continued reading the book Remus had sent him, _Werewolves: The Truth Behind the Fangs: Volume III_ by Fergos MacTíre, who was supposed to be one of the few authors who wrote factually about lycanthropy.   
  
Draco looked at the book in Gaara’s hands and he was reminded of a thought he had during History of Magic the other day, which like all other thoughts during those lessons was not related to the history of the magical world. “Oh, Gaara, I just remembered…did you notice that on the full moon your clothes changed with you?”

 

Gaara had only been half listening to what Draco was saying so he was somewhat surprised to hear something of value in his periphery. “What?”

 

“Well, usually when you change, your clothes get left behind in a pile, right? Well, when you changed in the hallway the other week, your clothes disappeared. That’s strange, isn’t it?”

 

Gaara cast his mind back and wondered how he had missed not only the initial transformation but the enormous convenience of having turned back and not needing to search for his clothes. “You are correct. This must be because it was an animagus shift instead of a lycanthropic one.”

 

“Animagi change with their clothes on?”

 

“Yes. It’s part of the magic that alters the form, more akin to transfiguration than a curse.”

 

“Oh, yes, I knew that! McGonagall showed us all her ability to turn into a cat in first year.” Draco exclaimed.

 

“Professor McGonagall is an animagus?” Gaara said, trying to recall now if anybody had ever thought to mention that to him.

 

“Yeah. She’d probably show you if you asked, since you missed it. She doesn’t seem to turn into a cat all that often, I don’t think. I heard a rumour that she sometimes runs around at night like that, but that might have been part of a joke.”

 

“I expect so.”

 

“So, are you going to ask her?”

 

“No, I don’t need her to demonstrate. I have seen enough animagus transformations.” Gaara said.

 

“Right, because Black is one.” Draco said, his voice dropping a decibel or two since he knew that was still a secret from the Ministry, which, his father had warned him, had ears everywhere.

 

“Yes.” Gaara’s memories were also drawn to the image of Pettigrew trying to escape him time and time again during his hunt at the end of last year.

 

“Well, it’s still very interesting. I’ve considered learning it myself but I don’t intend to go to all that trouble to end up with a rubbish animal.”

 

“Like a tanuki?”

 

“I could settle for that, although I’m still not sure you really are a tanuki. I’ll find you a picture of what they really look like at some point. Luna thinks you might be something like a red panda. Anyways, no, I mean like a mouse or an insect or something. By rights, I should be a basilisk or a dragon or something.”

 

“I do not believe anybody has ever become a dragon before, though I did read one account of a woman turning into a snake, although it didn’t end well for her.”

 

“Wizarding stories about snakes almost never do.” Draco sighed. “Maybe there have been more interesting animagi but they were clever enough not to write about themselves without registering with the Ministry.”

 

“Possibly.”

 

“Are you ever going to register?” Draco asked with a smile.

 

“Never.” Gaara said resolutely.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

It was at the beginning of the lunch period that McGonagall had approached Gaara and directed him to her office where the Ministry official was waiting. Gaara noted the singular and wondered if this meeting might actually be as innocuous and bureaucratic as the Ministry was claiming. Probably not. Even McGonagall looked suspicious, though that might be because she had been evicted from her office during her valuable lunch hour with a full stack of tests to be marked before her last lesson of the day.

 

“I have been asked to leave the two of you alone,” She said as they arrived, “so I will be waiting outside the door if you need me.”

 

Gaara nodded and paused to watch her transfigure a mop and bucket in the corridor into a chair and desk, impressive even to the cynical, before leaving her to her marking and entering the office. As he closed the door behind him, Gaara heard Filch interrogating McGonagall on which miscreant child had stolen his best bucket and mop.

 

Gaara stopped mid-step into the office when he saw who had stood to greet him, or, rather, who he thought he saw. Behind the desk was a man who bore an uncanny resemblance to Henrick Morbidus, who Gaara had grave misgivings about being stuck in a room alone with.

 

“Gaara, I presume. I am afraid your reputation quite precedes you. My name is Pius Thicknesse, senior undersecretary for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement under Amelia Bones.” He offered Gaara a hand to shake but Gaara just stared at it until it was withdrawn. “Of course, my apologies, you are from a different culture, one where handshaking is presumably not the custom?”

 

Gaara nodded slowly.

 

“Then let us begin without any further stumbles, shall we?”

 

The attempt at warmth was both disturbing and unconvincing from the gaunt figure behind the desk so Gaara did not indulge in the farce and kept the frown on his face as he took a seat.

 

“You needn’t be nervous at all, Gaara. All I have are a few routine questions to conclude the unpleasantness of that night and then we’ll be done.” Thicknesse pulled out a sheaf of paper from his fine leather satchel and sat across from Gaara. “Now, if I could just take you back to that night, at what time were you alerted to the… incident taking place?”

 

“The Death Eaters attacked a few hours after the end of the match.”

 

“Of course, the identity of the party who were involved in the incident cannot be conclusively verified and linked to the organisation understood to have served under the Dark Lord, despite indications to that effect, but might I ask, at what point did you come to the conclusion that the party were indeed a hostile element?”

 

Gaara’s mood worsened when he realised this man would evade the truth no matter what was said to him. “When I saw them.”

 

“So, you’re assumption was based on their clothing?”

 

“I have seen pictures of Death Eater uniforms.”

 

“And your inexperienced eyes prompted your aggressive actions? For which, I might add, you have already been cleared of any wrongdoing.”

 

“They were already engaged in battle with several other wizards including Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Arthur Weasley.”

 

“Yes, although I would hesitate to term the incident as including a ‘battle’, I understand that these three are your guardian, your onetime professor and friend of your guardian, and another associate. Would it be fair to say that your attack was in response to a perceived insult to them?”

 

“No. It was in their defence.”

 

“Of course, I apologise for my wording. Yes, you were defending them. Might I ask, why were you, an untrained wizard of some fourteen years, defending three adult wizards of some renown?”

 

“No.”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“You may not ask.” Gaara said petulantly.

 

“Very well. One can hardly be seen to question such benevolence, I suppose.” The man said, turning the page in his report. Gaara spotted a number of annotations to whatever was written on the parchment.

 

“The details of the… unfortunate bouts of violence have been spoken of adequately, so I will be brief.”

 

Gaara nodded, doubting that any of what was to come out of the man’s mouth would be brief.

 

“Were you in possession of your wand at the time?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And yet you decided to use a bladed weapon, an explosive artefact of some description, and your charmed sand to engage the aforementioned party?” Thicknesse stole a glance down at where Gaara’s sand was concealed by the edge of the desk.

 

“Yes.”

 

“And now I have only one question left. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Gaara did not answer. “Yes, well, I just need to know who your parents are, or were, as the case may be.”

 

“They are deceased. Their identities are private.”

 

“Am I to understand that you are refusing a direct and official request for information?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Thicknesse stared at the defiant teenager, having expected the child to buckle under the pressure. The warning he had received about him being something of an irregularity rang in his ears as he reformulated his approach. He didn’t have long left before the assistant headmaster would use the end of lunch as an excuse to interrupt.

 

“Well, I can tell them I asked, can’t I.” Thicknesse smiled conspiratorially. He began to laboriously shuffle and pack away his papers under Gaara’s watchful gaze. “I must admit to being impressed by your composure. It is not very often that one has dealing with someone your age who is not at all intimidated by an authority figure.”

 

Gaara was not prompted to answer.

 

“But then, conventions are clearly not your style.” He continued to smile at him, making Gaara’s increasingly uncomfortable, and then looked to Gaara forehead. “I was told you had a tattoo but I had expected something a little less… noticeable. Quite the statement.”

 

Gaara kept is silence. He preferred not to talk about his tattoo anymore.

 

“In this country, it is illegal for children to be given such marks, especially on such a painful and visible area.”

 

Gaara let out a little sigh, realising that this wasn’t merely small talk but the second half of the interrogation.

 

“That’s a Japanese character, am I right? I don’t know that offhand, you understand, it’s in your file. However, you aren’t from Japan, yourself…”

 

Gaara found the similarities between his home world and this ‘Japan’ to be fascinating, but he still kept quiet.

 

“But you would rather not discuss that. I understand. It does make for an interesting appearance. Your hair is another curiosity one might mention, such a bright shade of red, and yet I hear it is not dyed. Curious. But then, one does not control ones innate appearance, does one. Do your siblings share your hair colour?”

 

“Siblings?” Gaara questioned. It was not outside of the realm of possibility that the Ministry had somehow become aware of his mentioning Temari and Kankuro, as they had somehow discerned that his hair colour was natural, but it was more likely he was guessing. The hair colour thing might have been a well-aimed guess too.

 

“Oh, you don’t have siblings?”

 

“Do you?”

 

“Why do you ask?” Thicknesse asked, a slight sneer appearing on his otherwise political face, amused by the teenager’s attempt to redirect the question back at the interrogator.

 

“I met a man who looked like you. Morbidus.”

 

Pius raised an eyebrow. “Oh, Henrick, of course. I did know that you two met, I believe. We do share something of a resemblance, as I recall, but despite our familial and vocational connection, we haven’t crossed paths in a number of years. His have always been somewhat more… proactive ambitions, than my own. Never much one for family get-togethers, you might say.”

 

Gaara tried to work out whether this disclosure was in order to prompt one of Gaara’s own, to engender trust between them at last, or if it was simply a musing on the other’s man’s part. It mattered not as Thicknesse’s expression cleared of its thoughtful reminiscence and turned back to a calculated joviality.

 

The door suddenly opened and in came Professor McGonagall, stopping whatever probing statement Thicknesse was about to make in its tracks. She strode right up to the desk and dropped her own paperwork back onto it, maintaining eye contact with the Ministry official from the moment she entered.

 

“I am afraid lunch is over, Mr Thicknesse.” McGonagall said with false pity on her face, “Unless you wish to keep Gaara from his lessons, he will have to leave now.”

 

“Already? Well, that is quite alright; we finished a moment ago, actually. We’ve just been chatting, haven’t we, Gaara?” He said, glancing briefly to the redhead, knowing no dispute would be admitted. “I am terribly sorry to have disrupted your lunch as I have. Now if I could just have a few more moments of your time, Professor, I should be able to submit my report in full. Gaara, thank you ever so much for your time and your company; it has been a delight, talking with you.”

 

Gaara took this to be his dismissal and left without a word. The British ability to mask one’s disdain with politeness was still beyond his political capabilities. If he was to be under attack, whether physically or, as just happened, verbally, he would not play along with the fiction of friendliness. Or maybe this was just what Kankuro had tried explaining to him from their own culture, this concept of ‘tact’.

 

As he stood by the closed door, he overheard a little of Pius’ continued interrogation, “Needless to say, we have the transcripts of Gaara’s time at Hogwarts, but if you could fill some of the holes in our records…”

 

Gaara drifted away, not needing to hear any more. McGonagall knew very little about him that the Ministry did not already know, and she had doubtless been instructed on the matter by Dumbledore when this meeting was announced, so he did not need to hear her evasions after having spent his lunch giving his own. The lengths the teaching staff had gone to last year, when they were attempting to shield him from Morbidus were testament to their devotion to the headmaster and his schemes.

 

Unworried as he was about McGonagall and this Thicknesse man, it did concern him that the Minister was sending members of different departments after him now. When previously he had relied on his investigators, headed by Morbidus, which seemed to perform various dirty jobs for the Minister, now he was pulling in other departments to spy. That indicated a worrying investment of resources on delving into his secrets.

 

Gaara was strong in both power and spirit but even he could not fight off the combined might of the Ministry of Magic, not to mention the rest of the wizarding world who might seek to control or destroy him should his secrets become known in their entirety.

 

He was supposed to be in a lesson of some sort right now but without his timetable or Draco nearby, he had little hope of recalling which classroom he should be in, in the next five minutes, so he gave up and headed out into the forest to work out some frustration. Without the dementors, his workouts were considerably less invigorating, but the acromantulas would do in a pinch.

 

It helped that this afternoon he managed to kill the largest spider to date, the size of a stallion. After that achievement, he had retired to Fluffy’s area and spent some time with the stupid, annoying dog. A few hours of wasted time later, he returned to the castle and gave a half-hearted explanation to Draco, who had been worried when he did not show up to Herbology after the meeting with the Ministry official.

 

Gaara wrote to Sirius to tell him about the meeting, disclosing its true nature and its failure, as far as he had been able to judge. After those brief few lines had been scratched, he cast his mind back to the last letter he received from the man for anything he might answer. He came up short since the only other thing Sirius seemed concerned about was to do with Harry and Gaara’s relationship, which Gaara had no intention of improving or discussing.

 

Setting the envelope aside to take to the owlery later that night, Gaara sat back on his bed and observed Draco’s tense shoulders as he completed an assignment from one of the classes Gaara had skipped today. Draco seemed stressed all the time since they returned to school. Whether it was his father, the Ministry-enforced practices for this opening ceremony, the Triwizard Tournament itself, his challenging schoolwork, or some other factor, he had not been able to relax since he arrived and Gaara was beginning to feel responsible, having failed to remedy it.

 

This failure was not for lack of trying, both conceptually and practically; however, Gaara’s attempt to reinstate their shared fitness regime to improve Draco’s health and mentality had gone down in flames. And Gaara’s desire to murder Lucius was deemed ill-timed since, rather than solving Draco’s problems, it might cause him even more hardship. The platinum blond seemed to be totally incapable of bearing a grudge against his father, since he had not stopped following his father’s bidding and would still not hear a bad word said about the man.

 

So, exercise was out, as was patricide, so what did that leave?

 

Confections seemed to cheer up other teenagers. Or…

 

Gaara was not suited to this task. Kankuro would have been incapable too, but Temari might have managed. And _he_ would have known exactly what to do and say to get Draco out of this turmoil. That was what _he_ did: see through the darkness of others and help them find another path.

 

Would ramen noodles help Draco? Doubtful.

 

Gaara’s problems did not decrease as time wore on. When October was in full swing, yet another trial was heaped upon him, this time in the form of a new article by Ms. Rita Skeeter. Her articles had been growing in popularity, evidenced by their frequent inclusion in the front ten pages of the Daily Prophet, but within Hogwarts they were notorious. After the series dealing with Gaara and the school, she had drifted away to talk about all kinds of disparate subjects, none of which Gaara felt he knew better for having read her poorly researched and badly written pieces.

 

This morning, however, her focus had shifted back to the school and it did not bode well for anyone present that she had. Gaara had taken to checking the paper since that first article, not as a matter of narcissism, expecting another article to feature him, but from habitual morbid curiosity and a growing sense of inclusion in this world’s affairs.

 

The latest of her weekly columns was titled: ‘The Past Villainies of Professor Severus Snape.’ Already Gaara was holding back a veritable groan of frustration. He had just about managed to avoid any conflict with the man since his return to Potions classes, and that had been aided in no small part by the lack of (perceived) antagonism from Gaara or anybody else during these peaceful weeks. Putting Snape in a foul mood, as this article assuredly would, did not mean anything good for Gaara.

 

As Gaara read over the article, he decided to risk Dumbledore’s ire and skip the next couple Potions lessons.

 

Skeeter had a flexible working relationship with the truth and employed it as scandalously as she could. The article mistakenly alleged that Snape had been friends with Sirius, Remus, James Potter and Peter Pettigrew in school, and that he had helped Remus, a known werewolf, to conceal Sirius from the dementors last year, prolonging the public panic and preventing the Ministry from capturing Sirius and exonerating him earlier. It then segued into a paragraph on Snape’s criminal past as a Death Eater and questioned why such a dangerous character had been forgiven his crimes by Albus Dumbledore and offered a job around children. Especially, it added, when he was known to be such a bully to both the Boy-Who-Lived and the Defender of Hogwarts that they both cried themselves to sleep most nights.

 

Normally this sort of aspersion on his character was enough to make Gaara angry but he doubted even the simpletons of this world, anybody who knew or had met him, at least, would ever believe he cried over something like that, or that he went to sleep every night. That said, Gaara was not pleased to be continually used as a prop in her stories.

 

Skeeter finished by saying that it was only through her diligent investigative reporting that she had uncovered such travesties, as Snape was steadfastly blocking all press access to both boys to keep them from speaking out about him.

 

Now, Snape would surely know that Gaara had nothing to do with an article like this, nor would Potter for that matter, and yet when it was pointed out to him by the ever-helpful Professor Vector sat beside him, Gaara knew this would come back to him. And sure enough, a scant few minutes later, Snape’s eyes shot up to meet his, and Gaara got to the impression he should not have been looking in the man’s direction at that moment.

 

Draco pitied him but that feeling fled him when he saw that Dumbledore was waiting to talk to Gaara after lunch, actually having stood by the exit of the Great Hall to catch him. The students who walked out before and after him were just as surprised and all conversation hushed in the vicinity.

 

“Gaara, I just wanted to remind you of the agreement we made concerning your return to Potions earlier this year. I understand that a rather upsetting column has been written by Miss Skeeter, and not for the first time, but Professor Snape will act professionally, as I assured you.”

 

“Good.” Gaara said, annoyed to be predicted so easily. Now that his truanting had been pre-empted, he could not plead ignorance when Dumbledore raised the issue of the deal later. That wily old man!

 

Potions later that day was… tense would be the best way to describe it. True to the headmaster’s word, Snape was less openly hostile to Gaara and instead spent the entire lesson watching and waiting for the slightest provocation so that he might be excused in his tormenting the boy. However, Gaara was used to avoiding giving such excuses, although that had been to stop his father from killing him rather than keeping an emotionally unstable teacher from snapping. More of a reversal of roles, really.

 

Snape was on the warpath all that week after he failed to work out his anger on the innocent students he had his eye on. It did not help his mood that all during that week, he received complaints from members of the public, the majority of which seemed not to have children currently attending the school, about his teaching style, his history, his looks…

 

Dumbledore’s promises that it would all die down in another week or two were the only thing that kept him from going through with his longstanding threat to quit.

 

The weeks wore on and it was in the middle of October when the painfully mundane day-to-day life of an inter-dimensional Jinchūriki attending a magical school was punctuated by a noteworthy event, by his standards. This day was the day that his last hope of finding his home unaided was dashed.

 

Early into his research in this world, Gaara had identified the four major areas of magical theory to be explored once he determined that no mainstream magical discipline applied to his problem. Over the course the past ten months since he made that determination, he had researched and read around these areas one by one. Each had its own complications and complex rituals and spells to be tried before it could be set aside and another could be explored.

 

Of the four, Gaara had spent the past eleven weeks delving into the last and today he was going to apply what he had learned of that theory. If it failed, as his creeping doubt was predicting, there was nothing else to do. Nothing else in current fields of magical theory, so any further attempts might take years or even decades of research to explore whole new disciplines.

 

The extra help he had received in Arithmancy this past month had been invaluable, and he had even run some of his base equations past Professor Vector, careful to avoid any insinuation of what he was really working on. Granted, he was still very much a novice in the art but if this ritual panned out, he could continue to learn and use it to act on the information he was hoping to gain.

 

Tonight he was performing a ritual that should, if it worked according his calculations, reveal to him his place of origins, give him a view of that place, and theoretically it should give him an indication of what method he might employ to get there. He had tried spells to this effect before but this obscure branch of arithmantic formula was known to accommodate multiple dimensions. Granted, notes on those dimensions never described anything close to Gaara’s home, but if the magic was piercing the universe itself, there was no reason it couldn’t reach to Sunagakure.

 

While it seemed like his most promising opportunity yet, it being his last chance was what weighed on his mind as he finished setting up the circle of runes around a designated spot on the floor. As he understood it, he would need to visit a much more powerful location than Hogwarts, and posses a great deal more knowledge, should he wish to follow the information provided to travel across the pierced dimensions.

 

He had tried explaining all of this to Draco as he worked, spending hours setting up the requirements for the ritual, the complex array of runes, the candle formations, the different ingredients, the translations of ancient and discarded spells, but this had quickly bored the blond and the conversation had moved on to tales from Draco’s earlier education.

 

Draco was fond of filling Gaara in on the goings-on of Hogwarts before he had arrived, which Gaara was happy to indulge since some of the stories were rather informative. The Basilisk story was interesting, to say the least. Although, the dubious role Lucius seemed to play in it was disturbing. Draco had not said as much but from what he seemed to know about an intensely private affair, it was clear his father had played some role in events that nobody in the Malfoy family would be eager to see uncovered.

 

Similar to that one, this story concerned the detested Gryffindor trio that Draco seemed to hate and revel in discussing in equal measures. Gaara had decided it was a pantomimed type of hatred, that Draco drew as much satisfaction in the appearance of a vicious rivalry with Potter as in the actual hatred and conflict.

 

“And there was a great big chess board. Of course, I don’t for a minute believe that it was as big as they say, but even if it was half that size, it must have been something!” Draco exclaimed.

 

“How did you hear about it?” Gaara asked again.

 

“Oh, those three are a bunch of braggarts, honestly. Can’t wait to go shouting about their latest _adventures_ , as if they’re really that impressive. The only thing they’re good for is storytelling.” Draco said. “Anyway, they all had to take positions and Weasley says he was the one who played them across. Obviously Granger would have helped, but it seems Weasley is actually not as bad as you would believe at playing the game, or so I’ve been told.”

 

Gaara looked up from his sheets of calculations to check if Draco was okay. Admitting any virtue in a Weasley was tantamount to declaring undying love for Albus Dumbledore and all of his muggle-loving ways, in the eyes of Draco.

 

Draco noticed this attention and continued, “Loathe as I am to admit it. I suppose everybody has to be good at something. Shame his isn’t magic or anything that could make him money one day. I’m sure it wasn’t that hard a game, anyway. If Potter could chase down that key with his shoddy flying skills, all of those games must have been set at the level of a ten year old.”

 

Gaara could admit that Potter’s skills on those ludicrous flying brooms was above average but it was difficult to take Draco’s assessment of Ron’s chess skills seriously when Draco himself was a terrible player. Gaara was, by his own estimation, not altogether untalented at the game, and beating Draco was typically rather easy. The boy had no head for strategic thinking.

 

“Anyway, after he nearly got himself killed, Potter and Granger went on and somehow Potter ended up killing Professor Quirrel and destroying the Philosopher’s Stone.”

 

“He killed him?”

 

“Well, as far as anyone’s been told, Potter did nothing wrong, but it’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”

 

“He was able to kill a professor?”

 

“No, he must have snuck up behind him or something, but it’s the only thing that could have happened. Dumbledore didn’t get back until later and the other Professors didn’t know what was happening until after.”

 

“I don’t believe Potter killed him.” Gaara said, less sure than he admitted. He did not want Draco spreading hurtful rumours, true or false. Realistically, it seemed unlikely that someone of Harry’s background and combat skill, as well his magical aptitude after only one year of teaching, could defeat a full-grown wizard, especially not one specialised in Defence Against the Dark Arts. That said, there was something about Potter that gave the opposite impression, a certain fierceness about him that made Gaara think twice about his dismissal of the story.

 

“More troubling is that the tests to keep Voldemort or Quirrel out of that hiding place were circumvented by three eleven-year-old Gryffindors.” Gaara said.

 

“That’s my point!” Draco said excitedly, going on to make several more accusations of incompetence against their headmaster.

 

While before, Gaara had always humoured Draco’s hatred for Dumbledore, since the man was either a buffoon or a master manipulator for admitting Gaara to his school with so few questions asked, now he was reluctant to nod along. Aside from the promise of help in his plight, Gaara could now see some of the cogs turning in that ancient man’s head and the last thing he would call him is incompetent.

 

“And this stone?”

 

“The Philosopher’s Stone was supposed to be this alchemical masterpiece that could turn lead into gold and give the user eternal life.”

 

“Immortality?” Gaara could imagine another snake-obsessed old man who would have killed for such a substance.

 

“Yes. It was made by Nicholas Flamel, who was a genius who lived to be over six hundred years old! He died last year I think, or maybe the year before. With the stone being destroyed, it’s no wonder really. Another triumph for Potter, there.”

 

“Why did he destroy the stone?”

 

“I have no earthly idea. I would have kept it. I don’t need the gold, of course, but living forever would be nice.”

 

Gaara went back to his preparations, unsure of such a notion. To him, immortality came with a heavy price, knowing what he did about Orochimaru, so the idea that a simple stone could provide it without cost was a curious thought.

 

“I met him at a party once, when I was about seven, I think. Nicholas Flamel, and his wife.” Draco said. “Father has a picture of him standing next to him somewhere.”

 

Draco then proceeded to list all of the famous witches or wizards his father or he had met over the years, none of whom meant a thing to Gaara.

 

Another half hour and the ritual was ready, and coincidentally this was the time when Draco finally ran out of famous names to drop. He had ended with the muggle Prime Ministers his father had been forced to meet with when the official liaisons had been ill or deemed too junior to make certain accords and Lucius had been forced to step in.

 

Draco retreated to the far end of the room unprompted when Gaara was about to start, unsure of what sort of effect this ritual would have but not wanting to be too close should it be energetic. When dealing with dimension-piercing magic, a good rule of thumb was to keep a ten foot exclusion zone around the ritual area, Draco decided.

 

Gaara started chanting something softly that sounded more Germanic than the Latin based spells they were taught, while stood in the centre of the array. Draco watched and waited, feeling a pit of dread in his gut as it proceeded. It was a long and uninterrupted spell, Gaara had warned him, but Draco could not find it within himself to sit at that moment.

 

The chanting was indeed dull but towards what Draco anticipated to be the end, lights started to flicker and flash all around Gaara in a random sequence. And then nothing.

 

Gaara came to the end of his long and impressively memorised spell and then he simply stopped talking. Draco held his breath, waiting for some wave of… something, or some final flash, but instead Gaara trudged forward, heedless of the scuffs he left on the carefully drawn circle, and sat down on his bed.

 

“Is that it, was that the end?” Draco asked after Gaara did not move again.

 

“Yes, that was the end.”

 

“And?” Draco entirely failed to grasp the clear disappointment on Gaara’s downturned face.

 

“It failed. There is little else I can try now, to find my home and return there.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“I may never return to my home or see the people there ever again.”

 

From a weaker boy, or one who had a healthier connection to his emotions, Draco expected tears would have been trailing down Gaara’s cheeks, instead his face betrayed nothing of what he was feeling. When something like this happened, Gaara’s stoicism became a lot less admirable. Beyond the pity, however, there was relief in Draco’s heart.

 

“I don’t know if I should say this,” Draco said, sitting down on his own bed directly across from Gaara, “but I am a little glad. I know it’s horrible to say it but I’m happy that you won’t be disappearing forever.”

 

Gaara looked up at him, his face still blank but at least he wasn’t glaring.

 

“And Mr Black and Professor Lupin and Lovegood, and I’m sure other would miss you too. You’ve been here for a year already and none of us want you to leave again.”

 

Gaara did not know how to respond, again. He had never considered that he would be abandoning the people here. Going home had been his all consuming goal for so long that the bonds he had fostered with the people here had been taken for granted. He could never have predicted that he would develop so many bonds in such a short time here. And now that he had precious people here… he still had to return home.

 

If it was still possible, he had to find a way back to his people. They needed him, whereas he was a liability to this world and its order.

 

Gaara refused to lie to his friend about this so he stayed quiet.

 

Draco tried to read something from Gaara’s porcelain face but nothing was showing through. What did this silence mean?

 

Draco waited and still nothing was said, and then Gaara was looking down at the floor instead of staring right at him so Draco took the break in the conversation to sit back on his own bed. He decided that Gaara’s silence and his solemnity was a sign that he was going to be staying. This was his way of expressing his desire to stay in this world with everyone here.

 

That was what Draco chose to believe that night.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

Sirius sat upright with a cup and saucer in hand and tried to work out if his throat was as exposed as it felt. A trait from his time spent as a dog was that whenever he felt threatened, he wanted to cover his vulnerable throat from any potential attacks. Illogical for most human threats but as Narcissa peered over at him from her seat, he could not be sure that she would not sink her teeth in.

 

She really hadn’t changed since they were children, he thought. She said the same about him, but for vastly different reasons.

 

She had ‘popped around’ for tea fifteen minutes ago and so far they had covered the typical pleasantries and already Sirius was (and he couldn’t believe he was even thinking this) missing Lucius’ presence. Cissy was a scary girl who had grown into a scarier woman and at least when Lucius was here, she was focussed on stopping a fight breaking out. Here and now, she was speaking with him and he had no idea why.

 

She was not the type of person to visit out of familial sentimentality, not when it came to him, and she was not being forthcoming with her real reasons for visiting. Unless she really was just here to chat…

 

He was hoping she might throw a curse at him, otherwise he would have to keep his face from scowling or from slipping some Irish into his coffee until she decided to leave.

 

Narcissa had to keep her face from smiling as Sirius squirmed. This was a veritable flashback to her childhood, when he had been an awkwardly scrawny little boy trying to avoid his three sadistic cousins when they came to visit.

 

Today, she had come to visit for two reasons: one, this was what family does, or so she had been told; and two, Lucius happened to be on a minor diplomatic trip to Germany this week and the manor was very empty without Draco or him to keep her company. The discomfort it caused Sirius was nothing to do with it whatsoever.

 

“So, dear cousin, please remind what you’ve been doing with all of your free time, as of late?” She asked, noticing his frequent glances to the drinks trolley and hoping he was not following in their unfortunate forbearers’ footsteps and drinking away what little remained of the Black family fortune.

 

“Well, a little bit of this and a little of that…” Seeing that she wasn’t satisfied with his vague answers, he added, “And I’ve been trying to fight some of those ludicrous new anti-werewolf laws being written at the moment.”

 

“You’re fighting against them?”

 

“Well, yes, of course I am. I’ve known Remus for a long time and he’s never been anything but a gentleman to me. Other than on the nights of the full moon when he forgets his manners a bit…”

 

“Yes, your werewolf friend whose been living here…” She looked around as if she was going to find chew marks on the furniture or shed fur all over the floor, all of which would have come from Padfoot rather than Moony.

 

“Remus, yes. Sadly Hogwarts had no need of his services this year and those laws have made alternative employment nearly impossible, so today he is out again trying for one of the few positions that might still be allowed to employ him. Stupid laws.”

 

“Seem reasonable to me. They are dangerous.”

 

“Not so dangerous when he was teaching Draco last year.”

 

Narcissa paused in sipping her tea. “That was an awful shock, let me tell you.”

 

“Yes, well, he was shocked, but Draco is a nice lad so Remus overcame it fairly quickly.” Sirius smirked until Narcissa shot him a look and he had to act like a scolded child.

 

“I’m not doing that much for him. Nothing any half-decent friend wouldn’t do.”

 

“Housing him, feeding him, helping him find somewhere to… transform? And more?”

 

“That’s about right, I guess. With how much the old parents left me, it’s nothing extravagant. I could keep a whole pack of the moochers around the place and it wouldn’t dent it.”

 

“Yes, well, if you were to invite any more of those things to stay with you, I shouldn’t expect Draco to visit again.”

 

“I would have thought you would be more accepting of them, considering You-Know-Who’s position on werewolves.”

 

Narcissa did not appreciate Sirius raising such an uncomfortable topic at afternoon tea and she let him know it.

 

“If you ever met Greyback, you would understand my reservations in endorsing that particular branch of the Dark Lord’s philosophy.”

 

“Well, he gives them all a bad name, that’s for sure. But really, Cissy, is this dissent in the ranks I smell?”

 

“Simply healthy disagreement, as you would find in any movement.”

 

“Yes, a ‘movement,’ that’s definitely what I would call your lot.”

 

“Must you drag us into an argument when none is called for? I did not come here to start a fight over the rights or wrongs of the war. Can we not sit down like civilised witches and wizards and enjoy afternoon tea?”

 

“Fine. Yes. You’re right. No need to start fights.” Sirius said. “I’ve not only been helping Remus with his fight. I’ve been working to help rebuild some of the family vaults. Father left them in something of a state, so the goblins and I have been reworking the portfolio.”

 

“You’ve been actively directing your own investments?” Narcissa’s face was not as political in that moment as perhaps would have been polite.

 

“Yeah, I have.” Sirius said grumpily. “It’s not so difficult once they explain it all to you.”

 

“And the goblins aren’t taking advantage of you, are they? You know how they can be.”

 

“Yes, I know exactly how greedy those little monsters can be but I have them well in hand. I’ve got them sending me daily reports on all the accounts and any movements therein. Giving them no room to do me over.”

 

“Prudent.” Possibly the closest to a compliment she had paid him all afternoon. “I’ve thinking of having Lucius teach Draco about the family finances next summer. It’s never too early to take an interest in one’s own future interests.”

 

“I’ll take your word on that, but I expect he would enjoy that. Definitely seems to take after Lucius, he does.”

 

Narcissa searched Sirius’ face for the barest hint that that had been an insult against Draco, her inner Gryffindor looking to jump out and play the part of the lioness protecting its cub. Seeing nothing overt, she let it be. “Well, I think he takes after both of us. Strong like his father but not without his… sensitivities…too.”

 

“I noticed something like that. Then again, with his age, I couldn’t be sure just how much of him is from the two of you and how much is him being a teenagers and taking after his friends.”

 

“He knows better than to let anybody his own age change his mind.”

 

“Except Gaara.” Sirius said.

 

“Those two _are_ very close, yes, but…” Narcissa did not know whether either of them would believe it if she claimed Gaara had not had any effect on her son. Such a blatant lie would not serve to move the conversation forward.

 

“It’s to be expected. You remember how I was after I met James and Remus.”

 

“I hardly think I need to be reminded of that summer. I still recall the floo call between father and Uncle Orion. First time I had heard such profanities uttered aloud.”

 

“Yeah, I got the first half of that directed at me.”

 

“Well, Draco has not made any sort of declarations to Lucius or I, like you did. All the better that he didn’t.”

 

“I should hope not. Father was angry but he had his ways about him. I can only imagine what Lucius would do if Draco came home and said he wanted to marry a muggleborn or try a year in the muggle world.”

 

Narcissa pursed her lips. She would not utter a word against her husband, especially not to Sirius, but she had the same concerns at the start of the summer holidays. Luckily, as always, Draco was not as stupid as his first cousin once removed.

 

“Anyhow, Gaara is not the same sort of person as James Potter. Altogether more sensible.” Narcissa did not want to upset Sirius so she avoided any more colourful words against her cousin’s best friend.

 

“In that, we can agree. I don’t think I could compare the two in any way but the quality of our friendships. The boys are close, and entirely aside from any difference you or I or Lucius might have, they do seem to be doing some good for each other.”

 

“I’m glad we can agree on this.”

 

Sirius did not mention the letter Draco had sent him only a few days before then, enumerating the conversation he had had with Gaara regarding his stay in this world. Draco had been sure that Gaara would never think to discuss this with Sirius so he had relayed the conclusion of Gaara’s apparent last hope of finding and reaching his home and the reality that he was stuck here. Sirius, as Draco had been, was delighted by the news and was happy to not have to pretend otherwise in front of Gaara at that moment.

 

The letter had been welcome and very helpful, but it had also been incredibly formal, to the point that Sirius had to make a conscious effort to avoid mocking it in his short reply, thanking Draco for telling him.

 

Still, it had further endeared his relative to him.

 

“Oh,” Sirius broke the short silence that had risen between them, “I almost forgot, I finally made contact with Andromeda.”

 

“Oh? How nice.” Narcissa said, putting forward an air of total disinterest. Andromeda and she had cut ties in the most permanent manner many years ago and she could not allow herself to show even a hint of familial sentiment for her. That said, she was one of Narcissa’s precious sisters and she could never bring herself not to care entirely.

 

“Yeah, well, nicer than the experience. Released from prison, nearly Kissed, rebuilding my life, none of that mattered. Did I blame her for tracking mud through the house when we were children? That was the issue at hand.”

 

“That and a number of other grievances, I would imagine.”

 

“Oh, don’t get me started. Honestly, she hasn’t changed one bit. Hasn’t forgotten a thing, either. If anything, she hates me more than ever.”

 

“Well, you always did bring that out of her.”

 

“Her daughter’s nice, though.”

 

“Her daughter? Oh yes, I recall she had a child with her muggle.”

 

“Yeah, that’s the one. Nymphadora. Makes you appreciate your own name, I think. She hates it, insists everyone calls her Tonks, no matter what Andy said.”

 

“Tonks?”

 

“Her surname. Andy’s surname too, come to think of it.”

 

“Of course. The muggle’s name.”

 

“You could call him by his name, you know. It’s just the two of us here and I know you remember it. You might not have been invited to the wedding but you remember his name.”

 

“I was invited. I chose not to attend.” Narcissa did not mention Ted Tonks.

 

“Were you? Well, goes to show, then, doesn’t it? Where was my invitation? Hates me. Absolutely hates me.”

 

“While I have no doubt about the sincerity of her dislike of you, Sirius, I believe at the time you were serving your time in Azkaban.”

 

“I still got letters. No invitation. Would have been nice to be invited.”

 

“Enough, please. I don’t know why you went there when you knew what it would be like.”

 

“The same reason you came here today, I reckon. It is simply what family does. No matter how one feels about the other, you sit them down with a cup of tea and stale biscuit and you catch up on the latest comings and goings.”

 

“I believe you might be right.”

 

Narcissa poured them each a fresh cup and they settled back into their chairs.

 

“You’ve had these re-stuffed, haven’t you?”

 

“Please let’s not start talking about the furniture, Cissy. It’s only one step from talking about the weather.”

 

“What might you suggest then?”

 

“The boys?”

 

“That would be fine.”

 

“Gaara’s been doing very well in his new Arithmancy classes, he says. All theory based so it’s to be expected.”

 

“Yes, Draco mentioned he has discovered something of an affinity for the subject. A bright boy, definitely; they both are.”

 

“How has Draco been finding this year’s syllabus?”

 

“Gaara hasn’t mentioned?”

 

“Gaara’s letter writing leaves something to be desired. He doesn’t tend to say a lot in his rare owls.”

 

“Yes, I believe I recall the same. Well, Draco has been forced to work twice as hard with this silly tournament opening ceremony business they have him rehearsing for. Absolutely exhausted at the end of most weeks, he assures me.”

 

“Well, blame the Minister if you feel that way. All of these restrictions and all that money.”

 

“I am certainly not Cornelius’ biggest fan recently, with how he’s been treating Lucius. Reprehensible.”

 

“Mark my word, he’ll be out of office before long. Everyone knows this is just his latest scheme to avoid his inevitable ousting by someone more qualified.”

 

“You may well be right.”

 

“Is Lucius thinking of running this time?”

 

“I’m sure he hasn’t decided one way or another yet. I for one believe it would be a waste of his talents. The Minister is a figurehead more than anything. Lucius keeps everything running.”

 

“And he still has time for humility.” Sirius said in false awe.

 

“Some men take pride in accomplishments.”

 

“I won’t be drawn into discussing Lucius’ accomplishments. The bounds of good manners and conducting oneself as a gracious host will only cover so many sins.”

 

“Then let us avoid that subject.” She agreed.

 

“Molly Weasley has taken it upon herself recently to take Gaara under her wing. She’s always taken such an interest in Harry and now she wants to familiarise herself with Gaara too.”

 

“She doesn’t have enough children as it is?” Narcissa said.

 

“She and Arthur are friends of mine and since Harry and Gaara are both my charges, she wanted to welcome Gaara a bit more.”

 

“Into the fold?”

 

“Into the extended family, more like. A lovely woman. You and she would have more in common that you’d think.”

 

“I somehow doubt that.” Narcissa said, cringing at the memory of being forced to meet the woman at a Ministry function some years ago.

 

“Anyway, she’s not looking to adopt him. She’s just started sending him the odd letter now and then to remind him that there are people thinking of him. Not the best home life originally, so I think he could benefit from it.”

 

“You know about his origins, then?”

 

“Yes. He’s told me bits and pieces.”

 

“Anything you could share?”

 

“Nothing worth saying. Everything else is between him and I. And maybe Draco. Who knows. He’s a private person.”

 

“Yes, so I gather. Not that it matters terribly.”

 

“Just so long as he’s not a muggleborn?”

 

“He’s not, I am assured. That’s enough for me.”

 

“I’m glad you can concede even that much.”

 

“Regardless, I think Mrs Weasley ought to tend more to her own litter of children and less to the children of others.”

 

“I’ll pass on your regards next time I see her.” Sirius snorts into his cup of tea.

 

Sirius had also neglected to tell Narcissa of how Molly had really come to take such an active interest in Gaara alongside Harry. It had resulted from a meeting he had with the Weasley parents last week. He had confided in them that he was seeking to adopt the boys, since they were the only legitimate parental figures he happened to know and he wanted a little advice on how to cope with both parenting and how to approach telling the boys his intentions. Their advice on the former was more plentiful than in the latter.

 

He had also asked for their endorsement, if it came to it, with the Ministry, as upstanding members of society and personal friends. They had been all too happy to oblige, should it come to that.

 

They had been an absolute font of wisdom, some of it more applicable than other parts. When it came to Gaara, typical child rearing strategies seemed inadequate. Hearing this, Molly had laughed and said he was wrong. The twins sometimes made her doubt herself too but one simply had to ignore the eccentricities of children and help them to prepare for the world. Except, and he had not wanted to tell them this, it seemed Gaara was already plenty worldly.

 

The time for afternoon tea soon drew to a close and Narcissa took her leave to process the full wealth of information her cousin had shared with her. In the circles she tended to socialise, so little was shared in conversations twice the length of this, Narcissa was almost overwhelmed by her cousin’s plentiful disclosures.

 

Brash and uncouth, he truly hadn’t changed, but (not that she would dream of confessing this) Sirius presented a refreshing change of pace to chat with.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

Gaara looked down at the two letters that had been deposited in front of him with today’s morning post and turned to his breakfast companion, “Your mother has sent me another letter.”

 

Draco set down his own letter and verified that his mother’s handwriting was indeed across the front of one of Gaara’s envelopes. “You’re right.” He wondered where this sudden concern for Gaara had come from and whether it had anything to do with the not altogether dissimilar interest the Weasley mother had taken in Gaara a few days before. His mother had all but refused to explain when Draco asked her in one of his previous letters.

 

He also wondered why the care package Gaara had received from his mother had been almost as large as Draco’s own two days ago.

 

Gaara stared at the pair of letters and then slipped them into his pocket to read later, and tried to puzzle out why two women who were unrelated to him were taking such an interest in him, since no reason had been apparent in their previous communications.

 

Since Draco did not seem to know, the only other option for getting answers would have been through one of the Weasley children at the school.  Considering the female one had slapped him in the face, the youngest boy clearly hated him, and the twins were obsessed with both Sirius and playing practical jokes… he would just have to leave it a mystery.

 

As it was the weekend, Gaara took the morning to run around the forest, or did whatever it was that he did in there, while Draco was forced to attend an extra meeting for the upcoming opening ceremony. It was only supposed to be a costume fitting this morning but that had swiftly turned into a full practice that run on for another two and a half hours until he was finally released.

 

Needless to say, it left him in a foul mood.

 

Storming into their room, Draco looked around for anything with which he might find fault so he would have an outlet for this impotent sense of indignation and rage. The best he could manage was decrying their freshly laundered clothes being left on their beds. The house elves came and collected all of their dirty clothes from each of their rooms, cleaned them, dried them and folded them, and then they deposited them on their beds instead putting them away.

 

Such a small extra step, which might have been left incomplete to remind even the Slytherins of some measure of personal responsibility, but Draco just found himself angered by the presumption.

 

Knowing that Gaara would quite possibly just dump his onto the floor when he returned rather than putting it away, it was left to Draco to play the part of servant and ensure an orderly living space. If Gaara were here, he would receive a piece of Draco’s mind.

 

It was quick work for the most part, but when he came upon Gaara’s expanding bag sat in his sock drawer, he shook his head and tried to reconcile Gaara’s occasional capriciousness with his military utilitarianism. He preferred his rule-breaking gourd to the bag and so he cast the bag aside, for no reason but personal preference. In times like these, it helped Draco to de-stress by imagining Gaara as a warrior in some war somewhere, deciding something the way he did and charging ahead without regard to the consequences of his actions while everyone else fought to catch up. In short, it was fun to imagine his friend being an idiot as he sometimes acted.

 

He shoved Gaara’s newly cleaned socks inside the bag and dropped it back into the otherwise empty drawer and forgot about it.

 

He had a couple hours at least until Gaara returned so he took the time to sneak a nap past his drill-sergeant-esque roommate.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

During the week, after another fascinating lesson on the basics of artithmantic formulae, Hermione Granger plucked up the courage to talk to Gaara again. She had not approached him nor had they otherwise talked since her birthday last month and she decided it was time she rectified that, since she obviously couldn’t leave it to him to solve this tension. And if she left it to one of the boys, soon enough Gryffindor would have formally declared war on Slytherin (something that, her memory supplied, had not happened since the sixteenth century.)

 

She was admittedly a little skittish in her approach, but firmed her resolve that his rage episode had been a one-time incident and he was in fact harmless.

 

“How are you today, Gaara?” She had spent thirty minutes yesterday, in preparing for this encounter, deciding how she would best open a dialogue between them again.

 

“I am well.” Gaara said. He avoided returning the question, hoping she might resume avoiding him.

 

“I’m glad to hear that. Professor Vector seemed awfully interested in you today. I noticed she took you aside earlier. There wasn’t any trouble, I hope.”

 

Gaara knew he could not rid himself of her without being unconscionably rude (a level he tried to stay above) so he humoured her probing question and answered, “She wanted to discuss a private matter with me. She gave me some help in a personal research project I was considering a while ago. She wanted a little more information about it.”

 

“Oh, that sounds interesting. What were you trying to find out about?”

 

Gaara told her the same thing he had told Vector, “It was nothing of consequence, ultimately. A dead end.”

 

Hermione wanted to know more but had gotten into hot water with Gaara before, sticking her nose too deeply into matters that did not directly concern her. He did not seem against her re-establishing friendly relations so she did not want to offend him too early on.

 

“I hope she was not too demanding. I’ve noticed she has been a bit more forthright with her teaching as of late. Personal issues, perhaps.”

 

Gaara had no idea what she was talking about and did not particularly care. The woman had seemed fine to him.

 

The silence went on and Hermione used this to switch subjects, “I’ve been doing my own personal research project as well, as it happens.” She said, shuffling the books in her arms to show him the title of one, _The Triwizard Tournament: A History of Brutality_.

 

“Interesting.” He admitted.

 

“Isn’t it?” Her eyes practically shined. “I’ve been looking into all sorts of things surrounding the tournament since they announced it at the start of term. There are only a few weeks until it starts properly so I’ve been learning all I can about the old tournaments and why they were stopped.” Seeing that Gaara’s eyes had not glazed over like Ron and Harry’s had, she rattled off a few quick facts about the tournaments of old and, seeing a kindred spirit, began to recite her recent bibliography so he might continue to learn around the subject as she had.

 

He appeared to appreciate this as he actually looked in her direction as she talked for a change. She would have liked to continue this conversation but all too soon they had reached the Great Hall and when her eyes naturally drifted to where Harry and Ron would be sitting, they were already halfway to their feet, glaring harshly at Gaara, ready to come to her rescue from the murderous psychopath.

 

Them not knowing about the thawing relations with Gaara would inevitably lead to some sort of public confrontation that she was eager to avoid but by the time she turned to warn Gaara, he was already on his way to his seat at the Slytherin table. He always did that.

 

Hermione marched forward to intercept Harry and Ron before they might do something silly like follow the redhead to the Slytherin table, enemy territory, and explained that he had been perfectly pleasant on their walk from Arithmancy.

 

“So he’s not an absolute arse for five minutes and you’re ready to forgive him for what he said on your birthday?” Ron asked.

 

“I hate to say it, Herm, but Ron’s right, Gaara’s too dangerous to be around. At least on your own.”

 

“What? Is that because I’m a girl?!” She asked, eyebrow raised.

 

Harry sensed danger and trod carefully, “No, not because you’re a girl or anything, just because he threatened to kill us and he’s got that sand of his, and…”

 

“Whatever happened on the full moon was clearly a misunderstanding of some sort. He’s been pleasant enough since then, quiet even. Let’s not go back to suspecting him of every crime because he’s a little different.”

 

“A little different?” Ron asked.

 

“I don’t think you can call what he said a misunderstanding.” Harry added.

 

“He’s not said anything like that since. He was definitely going through something that night. You have to admit, he’s not normally like that. Maybe he was hexed to act like that.”

 

“You think someone made him threaten to kill us?” Harry asked.

 

“I don’t know. Possibly.” She said.

 

“But who would?” Ron asked.

 

“It wasn’t that important, was it? Malfoy used to say things like that all the time.” She argued.

 

“I don’t see you chatting to him.” Ron said.

 

“It’s not just what he said, Herm, it’s the way he said it.” Harry said. Draco at least used to conceal his threats or make them indirect.

 

“And coming from someone like Gaara, you sort of believe it, don’t you?” Ron said, never quite believing a bully like Draco Malfoy could work up the nerve to follow through on any of his darker threats.

 

“I think you’re both overreacting.” She decided.

 

“I hope you’re right.” Harry said, glancing over to the Slytherin table but unable to see past the new high-backed chairs.

 

“Well, what did Sirius say when you told him?” Hermione asked.

 

“He was concerned and asked all about it, but in the end he told me to try not upsetting him and Sirius was going to talk to him about it.”

 

“And did he?” Ron asked.

 

“Yeah. Didn’t say much about it but asked me to forget it happened.”

 

“He wants you to forget about it?” Ron couldn’t believe Sirius, who had seemed like a nice man, would be so oblivious when it came to Gaara.

 

“I don’t think I could forget about it but maybe we should let it go. Sirius knows stuff about Gaara that we don’t and he didn’t seem to be worried.”

 

“So, in the end you agree with exactly what I’ve been saying?” Hermione said, exasperated by her friends.

 

“I still don’t see why he won’t tell _you_ , at least.” Ron muttered.

 

“We’ll find out eventually.” Hermione was tired of this conversation. What had begun for her as an intriguing mystery had become an uncomfortable obsession with another person’s private life. It had taken her longer than she was happy to admit to come to the conclusion that Gaara had tried pointing them towards at the start of their acquaintance, that his private business was not their right to know.

 

She started her lunch and tried to steer the conversation onto new territory, namely the boy’s lapsed Potions homework. With how Snape had been acting since the article came out, it behoved her to keep atop her friends and their habitual laziness.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

Gaara looked across the heaving table to make sure Luna was absorbed in her own book so he could check a chapter he did not want anybody seeing him check. He had already gone through most of the Library’s books which concerned anything tangentially linked to demons but he was desperate for answers (again) so he was re-reading them to make sure he missed nothing. Sadly, the day he had allotted to checking out the magical creature books had been invaded by Luna, who had decided he needed company in the Library.

 

Granted, nobody in Hogwarts currently knew as much about real or mythicised descriptions of tanuki better than Luna Lovegood, so she was a valuable resource for the unconcealed part of that particular project. So, while she continued her doctoral-level research into the magical history of tanuki in Japan and East Asia, Gaara tried to keep her attention away from the subject of demons.

 

She had repeatedly mentioned lately that she was considering learning how to transform, as Draco had but the reason she had not yet started was the opposite of Draco’s. Luna wanted to be sure she would turn into a tanuki, or something equally ‘cute’, if she was to devote the time to becoming an animagus. Gaara had steadfastly avoiding commenting on any of it.

 

Apart from wasting his time rechecking the magical school books for references of beings that, as far as he had been able to ascertain, did not exist in this world, he was also following up on the books Granger had recommended for him regarding the Triwizard Tournament. He had pretended, when Luna asked about those books, that his interest was simple curiosity in an interesting and historical event.

 

What he was reading was not… encouraging.

 

None of what was described was entirely beyond his capabilities, by his estimation, but it was more of a challenge than he had originally anticipated, considering it was supposed to be for civilian children.

 

Along with scoping out the range of previous tasks and the structure of the old tournaments, Gaara was also preparing for the backlash he was sure to endure from his friends. Since everybody he was on friendly terms with had thought to warn him against entering into the tournament, it was fair to say that they were worried about the possibility. While insulting that they thought he was stupid enough to enter of his own volition, since it was ultimately true, Gaara tried to forgive them their lack of faith in his better judgement.

 

The useless mythical creature books failed to turn up any new information, as he feared, so he buried them under the Triwizard Tournament reference materials and pulled open a stray Transfiguration book (which Luna had thumbed through earlier in her musings over animagi) to break up his serious research with a little homework. If nothing else, this simple foot-long scroll on Transfiguration theory would help distract him from the impending fallout.

 

Meanwhile, Draco was spending his time with his so-called ‘moderate’ friends. The term, he had always maintained, was something of a misnomer since none of them were cowards or moderate in any opinion they held, barring their scepticism of absolute blood purity. Slytherins were Slytherins, after all, and they were all venomous in one way or another.

 

He was enjoying a late lunch with Roy Norbel, Miles Bletchley, and Tracey Davis. A mixed group, to be sure, and one he would never have dreamed of associating with before last year, except, perhaps, for Bletchley who was also on the House Quidditch team. However, any fraternising with such a teammate, who was known to be from a less than fanatical family, would have been restricted to Quidditch and nothing more. Back then, Draco reflected, he probably would not have wanted to spend time with the overly meek Slytherin, anyway.

 

As most often happened when any group of Slytherins gathered, these four ended up gossiping endlessly about the various illicit romantic entanglements of their housemates and who the likely Hogwarts Champion would be. Most votes in the group, predictably, went to fellow Slytherins in the upper years. Norbel was not the only one to posit that Gaara would be a strong contender, with how powerful and respected he was, but Draco quashed that notion swiftly. Gaara would not be entering, even if he most certainly would win, Draco asserted.

 

Tracey Davis suggested a couple upper years from other Houses as contenders, and Norbel filled out the ranks with Quidditch players who should also be considered. Since Draco was the only one present who was being forced to participate in the ludicrous opening ceremony, his opinion of the entire affair was decidedly sour and he was happy when the subject moved back onto more comfortable territory, namely Quidditch.

 

“Oh, mind what you say, it looks like we’ve got a little eavesdropper.” Davis said, looking out of the corner of her eye.

 

“Who?” Bletchley asked, avoiding looking over.

 

“Don’t recognise the face. Looks like a firstie, our House.”

 

“And they don’t know better than to listen in on conversations yet?” Norbel said.

 

“Is it a girl?” Draco asked, hand running back through his hair.

 

“Yes.” Davis said.

 

“Ignore her. It’s just the Lavado girl. Been following me for weeks.”

 

“That’s Lavado?” Davis asked, almost glancing over. “I heard people talking about her the other day.”

 

“And I bet nobody noticed _you_ ‘hearing’ them, did they?” Draco smirked.

 

“So you’re the newest boy to entrance the little…” Davis considered an appropriate insult.

 

“Let’s stick with ‘social climber’ and not sully ourselves by discussing her further.” Draco said shortly, tired of the first year’s discomfiting antics.

 

Back in the Library, as Gaara was finishing his thoughts for the structure of his Transfiguration essay, their table was approached by some unwelcome visitors. Blaise Zabini, Pansy Parkinson, Daphne Greengrass, and Millicent Bulstrode all sauntered up looking out of place since most of them tended to avoid the library like the plague. Gaara had watched them enter the Library, as he watched everyone who walked into the room, and had been immediately suspicious.

 

The most influential and staunch of the purists in his year group minus Crabbe & Goyle, Gaara noted, were all Draco’s old friends who had distanced themselves from him as soon as he stopped with the senseless bullying and racism. As such, they were not fans of Gaara’s, who had turned Draco on his own kind, and Gaara was not a fan of theirs, for reasons beyond number.

 

“What do you want?” He asked as soon as they were all upon him, fanning out and trying to surround him, presumably to instil some sort of fear in him.

 

“Get lost, Loony.” Bulstrode demanded, standing behind the significantly smaller girl’s chair with her arms crossed.

 

Luna looked to him, a little intimidated but not unused to bullies such as these, and awaited his reaction. A sign of trust, Gaara decided.

 

“Luna, please excuse us.” Gaara asked, turning to her. He did not have the same issue she did with turning his back on these civilians. That said, with the nature of Slytherins, it was best, even for a trained warrior, not to turn one’s backs on them for too long.

 

Luna did not seem happy to be leaving Gaara alone, surrounded by notorious bullies, but she had faith in his abilities and knew, realistically, that there was nothing they could do to hurt him. She walked to the far end of the Library and tried to distract herself with her surroundings, though that was easier said than done when the far end happened to house the books on magical law and magical economics, that is, economics within the magical world, rather than anything more fantastical or engaging. She and a number of other curious Ravenclaws had learned this lesson the boring way.

 

Gaara was glad Luna had been so agreeable and that she had headed in a direction where there weren’t any teachers. These people clearly had something to say to him and, while it was unlikely to be of much interest to him, he wanted to know what it was. It would be needlessly disruptive for Luna to encounter a teacher and warn them of Gaara’s harassment.

 

He risked a covert glance to his pile of books, to confirm that none of the more inflammatory titles were on top of the piles, anything concerning specific beasts (i.e. tanuki) or demons. Luckily not, and these riffraff were unlikely to be staying long enough to notice any of the books buried in the piles.

 

“What do you want?” Gaara repeated now that they were alone.

 

The group of four formed a semi-circle around Gaara so he rose to stand, not willing to be intimidated. It was hard to make this point of defiance when even the shortest amongst them was six inches taller than him.

 

“We’ve been talking and it’s long past time you were brought into the fold properly.” Zabini said.

 

“The fold.” Gaara was already getting bored with this conversation.

 

“Yes. Even if you don’t have a family name, at all, and you’ve been disrespectful to your betters before, it’s been decided that you should be told how things work, since Malfoy hasn’t.” Parkinson added.

 

“My betters.” Gaara found himself repeating whatever they said back to them like some simpleton, but it was honestly rather difficult to find any new words when they spoke like this to him. It had happened a few times in his own world but his siblings or another handler were almost always there to get the condescending idiot away from the psychotic Jinchūriki. It was surely a sign of his growth, Gaara commended himself, that these four were still alive and even conscious. By the time he found his way back home, if he ever did, he could be an accomplished diplomat.

 

“Look, we’re not trying to scare you, but you obviously know how to make yourself useful, and if the Malfoys have been too busy cavorting with blood-traitors, halfbloods and mudbloods to tell you the danger you’re in on the outside, then we will do it instead. The Dark Lord will return someday and when he does, he will take over not only the wizarding world but the muggle one too. Those on the inside will be rewarded and those on the outside will…” Zabini trailed off.

 

“They’ll die painfully.” Bulstrode finally piped up, never one for finesse.

 

Gaara realised this was happening not just because of his display of power at the end of last year but because he was no longer scary enough to keep the annoyances at bay. What a miserable fate.

 

“You wish for Voldemort to kill all muggle-borns and sympathisers.” Gaara said, wanting to get to the heart of the matter and get these teenagers to admit their genocidal dreams.

 

“You shouldn’t say his name.” Zabini warned, though it didn’t seem to be his own wrath he was warning Gaara of.

 

“You would see your schoolmates killed because they were born in different cultures.” While a lot of what went on in Hogwarts seemed entirely trivial to Gaara, the concept of two groups of people sharing one space despite grave differences in their ideologies and harbouring hostilities between them was definitely a more worrying conceptualisation of the issue. Like if Iwa and Konoha sent their Genin to the same Academy.

 

Or if Suna sent their Genin to a Chunin exam in an enemy village…

 

War was inevitable in some situations, it seemed. And here he was chatting with the vanguard.

 

The true-born Slytherins shared a look and clamped down on any further overtly xenophobic remarks, fearing some sort of trap from their housemate.

 

“Tell me this: would you let your friendship with Malfoy drag you down?” Zabini said.

 

“Yes.” Gaara said without hesitation.

 

“You should have been sorted into Hufflepuff.” Bulstrode huffed.

 

“Was probably supposed to be until he hexed the Sorting Hat.”  Daphne Greengrass finally spoke up, just as the others seemed to have finished.

 

Gaara said nothing further and watched them begin to disperse. He was about to resume his seat and ignore their slow exit when Zabini knocked his books off the table in a casual display of machismo. This small, subtle form of bullying would be ignored by most, through high-mindedness or cowardice, but Gaara could not abide by such blatant exhibitions of disrespect to him and the books.

 

Gaara stepped forward quickly, took a hold of Zabini’s arm and then pushed him against the nearest bookshelf so fast that none of his compatriots had time to draw their wands.

 

“That insult would have earned you death, once upon a time.” Gaara said, staring directly into Zabini’s suitably intimidated eyes. 

 

Gaara released his arm and totally ignored the wands, all three of them, pointed at the back of his head, and walked around the stacks to go and find Luna. It also helped that hiding amongst the books kept him out of Madam Pince’s firing line, her having witnessed both spilling of the books onto the floor and standoff that followed. Gaara could hear her giving the other Slytherins a loud scolding and he was happy to avoid it.

 

Doubtless, by the time he resurfaced from the bookshelves, Pince would have moved on to another infraction. She ran the Library like a military encampment and he respected her for it. If only she could be relied upon to find a book every now and then, she would be worth her weight in galleons.

 

By the time Gaara and Luna emerged from their discussion of the surprisingly interesting introduction of a magical forbearer to the muggle middle classes almost a century before their rise in the non-magical economy, the Slytherins had slithered away and Pince had cleared their table. They decided to call it a day since she would take at least a few hours to re-shelve all of the books they had on their table and she greatly resented students picking books off of her trolley.

 

Draco and his friends had to endure a similar confrontation, as Crabbe and Goyle, who had begged off from the contingent sent to talk to Gaara (for reasons they would not elaborate on even now) brazenly walked up to them in the Great Hall, in sight of many professors and students.

 

Draco was ready to shoot off a harsh dismissal of his onetime cronies but they beat him to the punch, with Crabbe’s opening salvo, “Don’t know why you’re still sat here.”

 

“This is the Slytherin table.” Draco said, honestly unsure whether Vincent had forgotten this salient fact.

 

“You’re not a proper Slytherin anymore. Your family’s a disgrace.” Goyle continued.

 

“When the Dark Lord returns, the Malfoy’s will be lucky to be doing what the Crabbes tell them to.” Crabbe said.

 

“And the Goyles.” Goyle added.

 

Draco looked between the imposing figures stood above him and rose to his feet; they might talk down to him but he would not let the likes of these two look down their noses at him. “As if a Malfoy would ever serve either of your families. We’d sooner bow down to the Weasleys. At least their family can be traced back more than a handful of generations.”

 

“We’ll see, Malfoy. The Dark Lord doesn’t take kindly to blood traitors and everyone knows where you stand. And your father might as well be a traitor for all the use he is these days.” Crabbe said.

 

“Why does he even bother showing up to the Ministry anymore?” Goyle said.

 

“At least he does show up to work. What happened to your fathers, did they finally realise that their absence makes no difference to the running of the Ministry?”

 

“Wouldn’t you like to know-” Goyle said before he was elbowed in the ribs but Crabbe, receiving a shush to remind him of some secret.

 

“You know, I really wouldn’t. The comings and goings of your slovenly and common fathers, both of them, can stay a complete mystery to me and the rest of the world. We would all thank you to keep them to yourselves.” Draco smirked, back to his old self.

 

“I really don’t think you understand your new place, Malfoy.” Crabbed said, stepping towards Draco in a way he remembered ordering the boy to two years ago, to scare whoever had offended him that day. Strange to be on the receiving end now.

 

Where there was one, there was always the other, so Goyle backed his partner up and they both towered over Draco. Draco was confident he could beat either of them in a duel but both of them would be too much for him to handle, and in a vulgar contest of physical strength there was no comparison to be made. He was just about to ready himself for a bloody nose when the pair backed off a few inches, and then a little further, looking less confident of their ability to crush Draco’s bones for some reason.

 

With their gazes directed behind him, even knowing the peril of looking away from them, Draco glanced behind himself quickly and saw that his friends were unaccountably backing him up. Roy, Tracey, and Miles were all stood behind him, with Miles’ wand also drawn and ready.

 

As Goyle and Crabbe prepared some snappy comment with which to leave under, Draco beat them to it, “Just go. Act like your fathers and disappear. Make everyone happy.” He then turned his back on them, with his friends to keep an eye on the pair, and hoped they weren’t still stupid enough to start a fight they would surely lose through numbers just to hurt Draco. Frankly, even a sucker punch to the back of the head might be worth the profound insult he was paying them.

 

He tried to look casual until his friends and comrades relaxed but he would have settled for not sweating through his shirt. When everyone looked to each other, Draco risked a look over his shoulder and found the pair nowhere to be seen. He had won this encounter but he would need to be careful from that point on not to be caught alone.

 

As they all sat back down and tried to avoid the subject of that awkward encounter and continue their day. After another half hour, they all parted ways, none feeling particularly like chatting after that near miss.

 

More than anything else, Draco was now concerned with the feeling that the lauded Slytherin unity, that force which united their House against the other three who sought to undermine it, would soon disappear and they would descend into infighting and chaos. It would be each Slytherin for themselves and everyone would lose out. The balance of the school would be lost and the entire country might suffer, not to mention with the return of the Dark Lord the rest of the world would be dragged into the nightmare.

 

Draco rubbed his aching head and decided to go and take an afternoon nap. Or try at least. It was only a feeling, after all. Everything would probably be fine.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

October went quickly and too soon the full moon was upon Gaara once again. Despite Luna’s frequent reminders of her original offer to watch over him when he elected to transform this month (since it was her “turn”), Gaara intended to abstain again and remain human.

 

The risks were considerable but he had made arrangement that should limit them as much as possible. He and Draco had located a cell in the Dungeons that was magically reinforced even after centuries of disuse, and could be locked from the outside, leaving Gaara trapped inside. Draco would keep his sand away from him and Gaara could spend the night working out some of his pent up anger without causing anybody any harm.

 

Last month, his higher skills including his control of the sand had seemed… irrelevant. His mind was so occupied with its rage and the prospect of destruction, the means by which this could most readily be enacted escaped him. No jutsu, no sand, no lock picking, nothing. Just screaming and threats.

 

Draco had not been happy with this plan, unable to understand why the pragmatist of the pair was taking such a risk instead of safely transforming into a tanuki and waiting out the night in the comfort of their room.

 

Gaara had tried to explain it without sounding childish, refusing to change because he didn’t want to, but tautologies aside, there was another reason for his decision. These transformations were strange. Well, according to Draco, everything about Gaara was strange and Gaara would say the same about this world, but these transformations and mental breakdowns were something unaccounted for in either of their two worlds. They were anomalous and they were somehow, perhaps coincidentally, perhaps meaningfully, linked to the ‘Kurai Sekai’ that brought him here.

 

From the moment Gaara told him about this plan up until the moment he slammed the heavy iron cell door shut, Draco’s nerves soured more and more. Whether or not Gaara had a decent reason for this gamble, Draco was so worried it would end in… well, he did not pretend to know what could happen when it came to Gaara’s unique lunar changes but it would probably be bad. He had sought Luna’s advice but she had been as unhelpful as he’d expected, simply agreeing with him that Gaara’s should transform instead of losing his mind.

 

When the evening drew in and they had both made their excuses to leave dinner early, they travelled down into the darkest recesses of the Dungeons, well past the Slytherin dorms. The cell Gaara had chosen was nearly as big as their bedroom, and was totally dark, with no windows to let even the moonlight filter through the lake water. Inside, the pitch dark stones were covered in grime older than more than a few modern countries and rusted chains still hung from the ceiling. The door was thick and made of solid iron, strong enough to withstand a fair amount of magic, let alone Gaara’s relatively meagre physical strength.

 

Draco had offered to set up the cell with a bed and some water, maybe a few books, but Gaara doubted he would have much use for those things. Still, Draco insisted on leaving him a thick woollen blanket since the cell was a cold nightmare. Gaara walked into the cell with grim determination, ready to discover what his affliction would have for him next and glared when Draco shot a bright light into the top of the cell, to illuminate the horrors to come.

 

Draco did not ask for any final confirmation, instead he took one last look at Gaara’s back and pulled as hard as he could on the stubborn, heavy door. It took an embarrassingly long few moments before the thing budged, and then he dragged it shut and pulled out his wand to lock the bolt and then to cast an extra sticking charm. Finally, as Gaara had instructed him, he cast a silencing spell around the area so nobody (read: Snape) would hear any commotion and come investigating. Otherwise, no one ever came this far into the depths of the castle, so they could be guaranteed of privacy for the night.

 

‘They’ because despite Gaara’s further instructions, Draco was not going to leave Gaara alone. Not because Gaara would be discovered, because he wouldn’t, and not because Draco was looking forward to listening in on Gaara’s suffering, because he wasn’t; Draco would stay despite his inability to help because he couldn’t bring himself to leave, simple as that. The thought of lying awake in their room, since sleep would definitely elude him, and waiting minute by minute for the sun to rise was too much to bear.

 

It came without warning, the first trial of the night, when Gaara spoke up from inside the cell, his voice muffled but discernible in the dead silence, “Draco, are you still there?”

 

Draco sighed with a smile; of course, Gaara would assume and predict Draco’s actions. “Yes, I’m still here.”

 

“It’s not happening, you can let me out.”

 

Draco already had his wand drawn ready to bring down the wards when he hesitated. It was a momentary doubt, that perhaps he should confirm that Gaara was in his right mind before swinging open the door. He dismissed this as soon as it came, since Gaara was not the sort of person to trick him like that.

 

“Open the door now, Draco.”

 

Draco faltered. “Uhhh…”

 

“Open the door or I will murder you.” Gaara said in the same deceptively calm voice.

 

Draco moved a step back from the cell door.

 

“Now, or I will break the door down and kill everyone in this castle.”

 

Draco wanted to try and calm him down but his throat suddenly seemed so dry, his tongue turned to lead in his mouth. He was afraid; not of his friend trapped in the prison cell but of the change in his friend’s mind.

 

He heard thuds coming from the door but they were almost inaudible behind the punctuated stream of threats coming from Gaara’s mouth. These words worsened as they went on, growing in scale and severity until Gaara was not only threatening to kill every man, woman and child in the school, but went on to claim that he would destroy Britain and every person in it, magical or muggle. Whether this was hyperbole, hubris, or a further sign of his insanity, Draco did not know, but it was concerning, in retrospect especially, that these claims were made during Gaara’s more lucid period.

 

After he stopped threatening Draco to open the door, he went on to alternating between maniacal laughter and yelling, including copious more undirected death threats and promises of destruction and bloodshed. The dull thuds against the door came and went until words left Gaara entirely and he devolved into animalistic sounds and screams that would haunt Draco for years to come.

 

When the noise moved away from the door, with his wand drawn, Draco risked opening the barred, eye-level hatch to see what was happening in there, to make sure Gaara was okay. He was lucky to avoid wetting himself when, from the shadows, Gaara ran right at the door, frothing at the mouth and face covered in blood. Draco slammed the hatch shut and heard yet another impact against the inside of the solid door.

 

The hours went on and no matter how much Gaara raved and shouted and laughed, nor how much he beat against and scratched at the walls and door, he did not tire or stop.

 

When morning finally came, Draco was curled up at the edge of the silencing ward, as far from the door as he could stray without sparing himself the horrid noises from within, clutching his knees to his chest and shaking, his tears having run dry sometime around two in the morning.

 

The first sign that it was over was the silence that Draco had been praying for since it began. Unwilling to take the chance, he cast the tempus spell and confirmed the sun had risen out of sight and that it was safe to unlock the door. Taking down the wards and unlocking the bolt, he steeled himself for what he expected to see, but that failed to adequately prepare him. When the cell door swung inward, Draco gasped at the state he found his friend in.

 

Gaara had broken his fingers and knuckles, lost nails, was drenched in what could only be his own blood from scratches and scrapes, and despite being conscious, he seemed unable to stand or speak as Draco approached. Gaara’s foggy eyes tracked him as he walked in but he did not move or try to react in any way.

 

Looking down at his friend, Draco couldn’t help but ‘tsk’ and say, “ _This_ because you didn’t want to transform. Idiot.”

 

Gaara continued looking up at him but did not, perhaps could not, move to answer. Draco would have liked to continue staring, to understand what had gone through Gaara’s mind to _choose_ this, but the horror of the sight was overwhelming and he needed to get Gaara to Madam Pomfrey. He had no idea how he was going to explain this away.

 

When he tried pulling Gaara upright, he saw how the redhead couldn’t put any weight on one of his feet and could hear a wheezing sound with every painful breath Gaara inhaled. Draco’s worry intensified when he realised the damage Gaara had dealt onto himself was so severe he couldn’t even hobble to the Hospital Wing.

 

Draco set him back down, stepped back, and levitated the bruised and battered boy into the air. It was still early enough that the pair might be able to make it to the medical wing before they had to answer any awkward questions. Gaara’s eyes slid closed when his weightlessness eased some of the pain so Draco carefully carried Gaara, shutting the cell door behind them so no one would think to investigate it and find the gore inside.

 

The castle was always eerily quiet at this time in the morning so Draco’s ears were tuned in to his surroundings, waiting to hear the tapping of a professor’s patrolling shoes, but all he heard was the rhythmic sounds coming from Gaara. The Hospital Wing doors were shut so Draco pounded on them as hard as he could, hastening as much as possible Madam Pomfrey’s answering.

 

“What’s all this ruckus, so early in the morning?!” She exclaimed as she opened the door, only to gasp much like Draco had when she saw what looked to her like signs of torture on Gaara. “Oh my goodness! What happened?” She asked, ushering Draco in.

 

“It was a spell backfire.” He said, having thought up the most believable excuse on his way up the castle.

 

Pomfrey spared him but a glance and ignored the blatant lie in favour of treating the worst wounds first. Where normally she would be able to fix his broken bones in seconds, including the broken rib that was hampering his breathing, Gaara’s unique resistance to magical healing prevented everything but emergency first aid. Poppy had to cast her mind back to her training all those years ago to recall the methods to safely encourage mending in bones when the patient is magically resistant or sensitive.

 

Knowing about Gaara’s anomalous physiology, better than most, Draco hovered over the slow process, circling around the bed as unobtrusively as he was able. It all seemed rather barbaric, this muggle medicine. Instead of a potion and a waved wand, she was wrapping his wounds and setting his bones.

 

“Mister Malfoy, you can go back to your dormitory now.” She said as she finished dressing all of the skin abrasions and cleaning the blood and dirt away.

 

“No, thank you.” He said obtusely.

 

Poppy was used to shooing away the friends of patients while she worked, but Professor Snape would have to be notified so he might as well find both boys here instead of chasing one down. She would let Severus interrogate the little Malfoy; doubtless, he would be able to get to the truth.

 

After the emergency work was done and Gaara had resurfaced to some semblance of consciousness, she forced a couple potions down his gullet. One for the pain and one that would re-grow his missing fingernails in a few days. The last was more of a cosmetic potion but handy in rare circumstances like these, and better still, should still work on Gaara despite his resistance.

 

Gaara would be staying at least the next few days for recuperation and observation, but that time would be extended if Severus did not like the reason for the child’s injuries.

 

Gaara had drifted off again after the potions had alleviated the pain and Poppy settled back to look him over. With the blood and unidentified grime cleared off and the worst of the injuries covered, he looked remarkably peaceful. While she had no desire to pry the answers out of either boy, she would be getting them out of Severus later. She had no idea what the boys had been up to but she sincerely doubted either had been practicing a spell that could have done all of this damage.

 

She called for Severus with a brief explanation of what she knew and he came promptly, which surprised her, knowing how he acted towards Gaara. Surely it wasn’t concern.

 

“What happened, mister Malfoy?” He asked as soon as he came to a halt, having walked right into the Hospital Wing without pause or hesitation.

 

“… It was a magical accident, sir. We were practicing a new spell Gaara read about and it backfired and hurt him.”

 

Snape’s expression was contemptuous, but only so much so as it always was when dealing with students outside of his working hours, while he dealt with Draco, but it slipped into open hostility when his gaze drifted to Gaara’s prone form for the first time.

 

“And I don’t suppose you remember any specifics of this spell? Perhaps the title of the book it was from?” Snape asked, his eyes hard and unforgiving as they continued to stare at Gaara while still addressing Draco to his side.

 

“I’m afraid not, sir. It was something Gaara found out about. But I insisted that we try it.”

 

“Of course.” Snape said, closing his eyes for a moment and then pinching the bridge of his nose.

 

“Is this spell likely to misfire again in the near future?” Snape asked, turning away from Gaara to address Draco properly once more.

 

“No, sir, I don’t think so.”

 

“Then I will dock him fifty House Points for when he wakes up, for his reckless stupidity, and award you fifty for keeping him alive.” Snape said, adding, “Perhaps I should deduct from you, too, for forcing us to endure his presence further…”

 

“Pardon, sir?” Draco asked, obliged to question but sure he did not want to know what Snape was mumbling where Gaara was concerned.

 

“Nothing. Go and prepare for the day.”

 

“Actually, I wanted to stay here for a while-”

 

“Unless you have recently obtained your healer’s license, I don’t see any reason for you to wait around the Hospital Wing instead of attending your lessons. There are infinitely better uses for your time than playing nursemaid for your burdensome roommate. For instance, you have several long essays due over the coming week including one from myself.”

 

Draco looked up at his Head of House but knew further arguments would be futile. Not to mention that he was too tired to be combating Professor Snape after enduring such a traumatic night. Right now, he wanted to take an hour-long hot shower and then curl up in bed to not sleep for a few hours, but instead he had less than an hour to ready himself for breakfast and then he had a full day ahead of him, with the memory of last night haunting him and the compounded weariness from staying up all night weighing him down.

 

And all through that, he had worrying over his unconscious friend to look forward to.

 

He remembered little of what transpired during the first half of the day and would need to find a generous classmate to share their notes with him, so tired was he. Honestly, he was struggling to keep his eyes open during Care of Magical Creatures, which was definitely a sign of his flagging energy since most would have described the lesson as anything but boring.

 

Any lesson where Professor Hagrid had to warn the students for fear of them losing digits could hardly be termed ‘dull’.

 

At lunch he did not even stop by the Great Hall, his hunger not for food but to see his dear friend and make sure he was okay. Frankly, even though he had seen Madam Pomfrey heal almost all of the damage earlier, and knowing that any non-fatal damage could easily be remedied under her careful ministrations, Draco was finding it difficult to cope with the illogical feeling that Gaara was still in imminent danger.

 

In there, instead of the bloodied, broken mess he had feared, he found Gaara sitting cross-legged on the bed like today was any other day and he was in their bedroom rather than the medical wing. Granted those other times did not typically see Gaara’s left foot and both hands wrapped in heavy bandages, but otherwise it looked sort of normal.

 

Draco had seen Gaara meditate like this a hundred times and was glad to see his eyes opening of their own accord, never liking to wake him from his contemplations. Seldom _able_ to wake him from his meditation.

 

Draco shuffled over to the bed, Gaara’s eyes following him blankly, and he took a seat, unsure of what to say since the great many expletives he had been planning to shout had flown out of his head the moment he saw Gaara awake and looking okay.

 

“How are you feeling?” Was the best Draco could manage.

 

“I’m fine.” Gaara said, which Draco found hard to believe considering the terrible damage that Gaara had apparently dealt to his own body last night.

 

“Has someone told Mr Black?”

 

“Presumably.” Gaara said.

 

“Is sitting like that not terribly uncomfortable?” Draco gestured to Gaara’s broken foot which was still folded under him.

 

“Yes.” Gaara admitted this and carefully shifted his feet out from under him so he could lie back in the bed.

 

“Why were you meditating now, anyway? Wouldn’t sleep be better for you, for healing?”

 

“I was attempting to find answers from within myself.” Gaara told him, comfortable with the half-truth he was sharing.

 

“And?” Draco prompted, ignorant of the deeper meaning of Gaara’s statement.

 

“Nothing helpful. Though it occurs to me that these are getting worse each month.” This stirred Gaara more than he let on. Only he knew the damage he might cause should Shukaku’s chakra join the intense rage and unleash an unstoppable weapon on the world.

 

“I don’t know how that could have gone any worse.” Draco said.

 

“Perhaps you’re right.” Gaara conceded, sparking suspicion in Draco’s mind. Injured or not, Gaara was never that quick to admit fault, even if it had been a monumentally stupid undertaking.

 

Gaara’s mind was elsewhere as he conversed with Draco, a common problem. Shukaku had been less than unhelpful, only telling him in a number of off-putting ways that this ‘tantrum’ had been the funniest one yet and the only way it could be improved would be if he let Shukaku out to play. That tanuki demon was a broken record half the time but Gaara was sure if he visited a few more times, he would learn something from the ancient creature.

 

“Send a letter for me. I will write it this afternoon.” Gaara said.

 

“Okay, but how will you write it?” Draco nodded to the bandages around both of Gaara’s hands.

 

Gaara looked to them and marvelled at the analgesic potions available that helped him to forget the mangled state his hands had been in upon arrival. The small bones would heal in less than a week, most likely, but until then he would indeed face a few additional challenges.

 

“I can take dictation.” Draco suggested, rooting around in his robes for his quill, ink, and a scrap of parchment to draft the letter on.

 

Gaara hesitated but then nodded as he formulated his message to exclude any mentions of his tenant. When Draco was set up and ready, Gaara began.

 

“Sirius, I am fine. Moonlit night was tiring as expected. Examining the beast within but no clues as of yet. No need for you to visit. Best regards, Gaara.”

 

“Is that all?” Draco asked, looking down at his paper to double-check that the entire thing was indeed only a couple lines long. He was also curious about Gaara’s strangely colourful turn of phrase, the ‘beast within’ part, which was certainly apt but strangely poetic nonetheless.

 

“Yes. Thank you.” Gaara spent a moment wondering whether these useless hands were better or worse than living without his voice, but it was a short musing since the answer was clear to him.

 

“I’ll write this out neatly and send it tonight before dinner. I have to go to Potions now. Professor Snape’s probably in a poor mood after we woke him up early this morning.”

 

Gaara doubted it took an early wake up call to put him in a bad mood, but kept his opinion to himself. Draco maintained an unnaturally forgiving disposition towards their Head of House and Gaara was already feeling bad enough about last night without insulting Draco’s unaccountably favourite professor.

 

Draco set off for his afternoon lesson and dodged the handful of questions his housemates directed towards him regarding his celebrity friend’s injury on the way to the Dungeons. Speculation had been rife in Hogwarts, with every interested party coming up with a new and more sensational reason for Gaara’s stay in the Hospital Wing than the last. 

 

As the day went on and the extent of Gaara’s visible injuries spread, Draco had to field any number of invasive interrogations until he stopped answering even the most tactfully placed queries. By the end of the day when it was time for him to trudge up the stairs to send Gaara’s neatly re-written letter to Mr Black, he was glaring in a very Gaara-esque fashion at anybody who approached him.

 

He was so exhausted, Draco intended to skip dinner and to go straight to bed, hoping that his alarm clock would be enough to wake him in the morning. In fact, he hardly used his alarm any more since Gaara was almost always around to wake him in the mornings. He felt like he might sleep for a couple days if uninterrupted.

 

So, as Draco lied on his bed, staring at the darkened ceiling, his eyes aching but refusing to stay closed, he wondered whether a dose of Dreamless Sleep potion might be called for. However, after lying to Madam Pomfrey about the cause of Gaara’s injuries, he worried that admitting he needed help to sleep since his was continually being drawn back to the horrors he witnessed might raise unwelcome questions. The same problem arose if he asked Professor Snape, so what was he to do?

 

He really needed to sleep.

 

The answer was obvious, a late-night trip to the Library was called for. He remembered that Dreamless Sleep contained flobberworm mucus, valerian, lavender, wormwood, and standard ingredient, but the measurements escaped him. Still, he should be able to make a batch in a couple hours, which would be quicker than if he simply waited to pass out from exhaustion. There was also the supplemental benefit of being distracted from both the aforementioned horrors and his unsettling suspicions regarding his best friend.

 

Something was going on in Gaara’s head and he knew there was no way he would ever find out unless Gaara decided to confide in him. When he considered how long it took Gaara to tell him what planet he came from, Draco doubted he would be hearing about Gaara’ s innermost thoughts any time soon.

 

Certainly not before the next lunar cycle.

 

The book he was looking for was easy to find and soon he was back in his House, crouched over his cauldron in the bathroom.

 

It was surely a sign of his sleep-deprived state that Draco did not concern himself with the extreme danger of making untested potions at his level and then taking them unsupervised, particularly in his compromised mental state and worse yet since the potion shared a number of ingredients and qualities with the Draught of Living Death.

 

Two hours and sizeable mess in the bathroom later, Draco had filled two dozen vials with the dangerous potion and was ready to get his night’s sleep. It was as he was brushing the petals of lavender from his borrowed book that he saw the potion directly after Dreamless Sleep, called the Dreamwalker Potion.

 

His eyes were swimming and his mind garbled, but Draco still took in the description the potion provided, detailing its ability to join the dreams of two individuals so that one might travel into the mind of another. Maybe that was the answer. It might be an invasion of Gaara’s cherished privacy, but otherwise, what harm could it do?

 

It seemed like a perfect solution. But not now. Now, he was going to sleep.

 

He settled into the bed and took a swig from one of his vials, the drowsiness he’d been feeling all day intensifying suddenly until he was dragged into blissful unconsciousness.

 

The next morning, five minutes before the end of breakfast, Draco was finally roused from his blissful oblivion by the incessant ringing of his alarm. When he finally showed up to his first lesson of the day, the entire class stopped dead when they saw the state of his hair. Any day where Draco’s hair was not perfectly slicked back and pristine was a one in a million.

 

Draco was eager to stop by and see Gaara again at lunch, but having skipped every meal for the past day and a half, he was actually too hungry to worry. In the end, he hardly had time to say hello before he had to ditch Gaara again and go to his next lesson. Luckily for Gaara, Draco had the foresight to bring a few books with him so that the redhead, who was trapped in the Medical Wing for the time being, would have something to do but meditate and stare at the walls. He also snuck Gaara’s prohibited gourd into the infirmary and stashed it under his bed, for Gaara’s peace of mind.

 

Madam Pomfrey was becoming somewhat unnerved by a patient she otherwise rather liked, mostly because he did not bother her, with his prolonged presence in her care. Although, his tendency toward harm (in increasingly ludicrous ways) was trying her patience, it was his blank staring and total disaffect when talking that troubled her. She had dealt with all sorts over the decades but Gaara was beyond even the most atypical young wizards she had looked after. More than any petty discomfort she felt, Severus had failed to find out what really happened and it was of much greater concern, that there were no assurances these injuries would not happen again.

 

In the evening, Draco came around for a longer visit and caught Gaara up on the day’s goings-on. He would have had yesterday to recount too but he remembered precious little of it.

 

Gaara had received a response from Sirius, as well as letters from Professor Lupin, Mrs Weasley and Draco’s own mother. Draco helped Gaara write out short replies to each when he found using his sand too clumsy to control the pen. He could make his words legible but Draco insisted that such chicken scratch was ill-suited for any sort of writing, let alone correspondence (especially with Draco’s mother, of all people).

 

Most of the replies were assurances that Gaara was fine and would recover fully, given time, although Draco added a short congratulations on Sirius’ successful bid for Triwizard Tournament tickets, which had gone on sale at midnight and had sold out in four hours. Draco’s father had likewise managed to acquire tickets, although Draco doubted his father risked applying for them in the pedestrian manner Sirius had.

 

Luna had appeared for a quick visit but had been upset by the sight of Gaara’s prolonged injuries and had to excuse herself in tears. Draco tried to explain this to Gaara but it was a wasted effort. 

 

After keeping Gaara company for a couple hours and then eating a hearty dinner, Draco was ready to go and recoup the last of his sleep deficit. He was preparing for bed when he went to check on the mess he had left from his impromptu potion brewing the night before. The house elves had apparently seen fit to tidy up for him, which was just as well as he did not feel up to doing that particular job himself right now. They had put everything neatly away except for the book that they had correctly deduced was Library property.

 

Draco looked at the book and something bothered him. He remembered most of making the Dreamless Sleep the night before, which miraculously had not killed him, but something afterwards had caught his attention. A recipe, but for the life of him he could not remember what. Something to do with Gaara?

 

He settled into bed and picked up the book and scanned the contents but nothing jumped out at him. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. Lovegood would say something about Wrackspurts or some such nonsense.

 

Giving up on what he assumed was a false feeling, he idly flicked through the book and came back to the Dreamless Sleep recipe, noting that he had brewed a fifth year potion in his bathroom while sleep deprived. And Longbottom couldn’t make second year potions under supervision without blowing himself up!

 

As he was about to close the book, his eyes glided over the next page and something seemed familiar. Was this the thing he was half-remembering? Why was he interested in a Dreamwalker potion? What did it have to do with Gaara?

 

He clearly remembered now that he was excited to find this potion and that it would help with Gaara somehow, but the reasoning was totally lost to him. What use could it be when it took over a month to brew and required ingredients he would have to send away for?

 

Despite all that he did not know about Gaara, Draco was fairly sure whatever was going on in his head would be a nightmare. Not something he wanted to going walking around in. But then, how would he ever truly know his friend if he did not take some invasive and drastic measure to force the issue?

 

He could always brew the potion and throw it away if he changed his mind. He had a month to think about it and this would keep him pretty busy.

 

But would Gaara ever forgive him if he went ahead with it?

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

In the days following his admittance to the Medical Wing, Gaara welcomed any schoolwork he could use to distract himself from the monotony and the creeping doubts about his experiment in the Dungeons. Draco had clearly been hurt by the experience but he seemed to be recovering at about the same rate that Gaara’s physical recovery was proceeding.

 

Draco had announced, apparently unprompted, that since Professor Lupin was gone and not coming back, he would take over Gaara’s supplemental spellcasting lessons again. The redhead had been flagging behind even the bottom of the pack in terms of his practical abilities lately and with his absence in the Medical Wing stretching onwards, he needed some extracurricular help to catch up.

 

Granted, with both of his hands still largely out of commission, it was more of a hypothetical training, with him strictly observing the wand waving as Draco demonstrated what they had been learning and tried to convey the important parts that might trip the infirm boy up later. Still, beyond alleviating boredom, Gaara was appreciative of the help.

 

“Remember to flick the tip right at the end or you won’t be able to aim the spell.” Draco said, emphasising that part of the movement. He’d had to watch Weasley doing it wrong for twenty minutes before Granger interceded.

 

Gaara’s face was pinched as he concentrated entirely on the task at hand. Strong as the pain potions were, he still winced when his fingers automatically formed into a gentle grip under the bandages, sending a spike of pain up him arm.

 

“I’ve been meaning to ask, what would you want to do, when you finish Hogwarts?” Draco specifically avoided using the phrase ‘when you grow up’, since the topic was uncomfortable enough without adding an insult to Gaara’s height and maturity. Ever since Gaara had revealed that he would most likely be staying in this world, Draco had been wondering about his future because he was so… Gaara. It was impossible to imagine him sitting in an office or doing any sort of mundane career, really.

 

“I’ve had a job before. I will try to continue here.” Gaara didn’t look up from his examination of his hand’s movement.

 

“I don’t think there will be quite as much demand for ninja here as in your world.” Draco warned him.

 

“The equivalent would be a mercenary in this land. Or an assassin. I assume there is demand for those services.”

 

Draco stared at his roommate who casually contemplated becoming a hitman after finishing school but continued on regardless, “What about becoming an Auror? That’s a more… traditional career option.”

 

Gaara nodded but moved them back on to their previous topic of wand movement. He doubted that working as an Auror would present him with any real challenge, and beyond that he simply didn’t want to think of his future if it did not include his home and his friends and family there. But likewise, he couldn’t envision a future without the friends he had made here too. He knew this meant he was bound to be disappointed with however things turned out, regarding Dumbledore’s plan to help him return home.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

Gaara had managed to escape from Madam Pomfrey’s care after only four days of boredom with the promise that he would return for twice-daily check-ups and dressing changes. She had wanted to keep him there longer or at least have him excused from lessons until he was more fully healed, but his will trumped hers and he insisted on returning to functional life.

 

Draco had been happy to have him back but the awkward silences in the aftermath of Gaara’s transformation would not abate, no matter how Gaara tried to force some joviality. It wasn’t his specialty but he gave it every effort only to hit against the brick wall of Draco’s suspicion and trauma. It was yet another instance where Gaara could not understand a civilians’ reaction to a mildly violent event.

 

Draco was acting like he was the one who had been hospitalised.

 

They settled back into their usual routine eventually, but every once in a while Draco would sneak off somewhere for some secret project that wasn’t a scheduled opening ceremony practice. It bothered Gaara and he thought about following Draco to wherever he was going, but after everything that had happened, he would not feel right breaking Draco’s trust in that way. Draco was his friend and whatever secret he was keeping was his to keep. It would be the height of hypocrisy to insist on full disclosure when he had made such a habit of withholding information in this world.

 

By the end of the month, Gaara was able to walk without the humiliating and karmic aid of a crutch, and his hands were both back to full functionality. The rest of the school, who had taken a keen interest in his injuries, had assumed his speedy recovery meant he had not been too badly hurt in the first place, although they still puzzled over why he had not been healed by Madam Pomfrey.

 

With his newfound popularity, Gaara was unprepared for the positive responses to his healthy return to lessons and meals. Even in Suna, he was unused to people, strangers, being happy to see him.

 

Even after spending those four days on bed rest, studying obsessively, Gaara was still behind his classmates and had a lot of work to catch up on. Not one to slack off or fall behind, Gaara worked around the clock (to Draco’s chagrin) to catch up as quickly as possible.

 

Busy as this schedule made him, the day of the opening ceremony came upon him with a certain amount of surprise. This was something of a shameful oversight since Draco had been talking about it with increasing resentment all month and yet Gaara had still somehow tuned it all out. It was only when he noticed the swarm of Ministry workers, which had descended on the castle, that he pieced together the significance of the date.

 

The Ministry-employed decorators and organisers made quick work of what had been left unfinished before the start of term, making as much of the castle gleam as was possible. Everything was polished and re-polished to a mirror shine, making certain hallways rather perilous to anyone wearing leather-soled shoes, as those unfortunate individuals had learned when they slipped and slid in every direction.

 

The Weasley twin who wasn’t taking part in the opening ceremony had complimented the workers and then gone about applying a variety of different slippery substances to the affected floors to see which sent the next unfortunate student sliding the furthest. By the end of the day, the prank had evolved into an organised sport amongst their friends and peers closely resembling muggle curling, using mops and first years.

 

Out in the courtyard, dozens of Ministry workers had set about building a pair of unassuming wooden structures no bigger than garden sheds, although more finely accoutred, that would be large enough on the inside to house each of the visiting schools. No Hogwarts students were permitted to enter but rumours ran rampant about the levels of opulence and comfort contained within each that made them the envy of many, mostly Slytherins.

 

Draco had been excused from lessons for the entire day, as had everybody else involved in the performing and running of the opening ceremony, which made for a very dull day, in Gaara’s eyes. The agitation among the student body would have been much more entertaining with Draco’s colourful and snobbish commentary.

 

He did, however, get to overhear a hundred fragmented conversations concerning the ceremony, the incoming visiting schools and any celebrity Quidditch players contained therein, boasts of who would be entering, predictions of Champions, and wagers of which school would come out victorious. They were the same conversations that had been taking place since the start of September but in greater concentration. One or two of his braver classmates tried to drag Gaara into one of these discussions but he begged off in favour of peace and quiet. It simply wasn’t the same without Draco.

 

At lunch he observed the construction of extra seating for the visiting schools to sit on and spectate in the Great Hall. It had been announced early on that there would be a rota for which school could sit and eat in the hall at which times each day after they arrived and a small orange part of Gaara’s mind was looking forward to the inevitable discord and chaos.

 

Lessons ended early that day so that everyone had ample time to clean up and change into fresh clothes.

 

It was pandemonium in the castle after Gaara had ‘readied himself’ for the night’s event. He had killed ten minutes in their room with a half decent book before he decided to go on up. He did not see any reason to change his perfectly clean clothes so he had joined the stream of students already making their way back up through the castle, all vying for a spot at the front of the crowd for the best view of the arrivals.

 

When dozens and then hundreds of Slytherins all wanted the same thing, a little pushing and shoving was the least one could expect. At least two students had been hexed by the time the other schools were due.

 

Almost every student not busy preparing for the opening ceremony could be found waiting outside of the castle for the incoming Durmstrang and Beauxbatons groups. It was late October and the wind was as chilly as one might expect but it did not deter nor dampen the students’ spirits. The staff, on the other hand, were less enthused and more bothered by the delay of the other schools, shivering in the cold as they had been commanded to by the Minister.

 

The Ministry officials appeared an hour after the rest of the crowd, looking far too smug and warm for their own good. Fudge, Bagman and Crouch all strolled out with Morbidus and a handful of other nameless Ministry lackeys close behind. A dozen Aurors had also arrived on the scene and were formed into a rough perimeter around the VIPs.

 

Gaara saw that among the Ministry notables, Lucius was absent, which must have been a profound embarrassment for the ambitious Ministry man. He caught the eye of Morbidus and quickly averted his gaze, not wanting to draw attention to himself at that moment. The Ministry already had an unhealthy interest in him, he did not want them renewing or deepening the disturbing attention they paid to him.

 

Evidently the Ministry visitors knew something the Hogwarts staff did not as their arrival only preceded the excited announcement of an incoming flying carriage by a few minutes. A few voices had piped up about something in the sky and every face turned upwards, watching in amazement or bewilderment as an enormous pink carriage was pulled through the sky and safely onto the ground by equally oversized winged-horses.

 

The landing had been a little bumpy but Gaara was more focussed on the unerring trend of silly magical transportation methods, each more impractical and dangerous than the last.

 

That train of thought was derailed when the tallest woman Gaara had ever seen, perhaps the tallest person, stepped out of the carriage and towered above even Hagrid, who had appeared to wrangle the pegasi. She was, unlike the enormous man, well groomed and seemed comparatively demure even from a distance.

 

Following her were the blue-robed pupils of her school, all normal-sized and well-presented. They hopped out one after another and Gaara realised the carriage, even as big as it was, must have been expanded to accommodate the dozens upon dozens of French boys and girls.

 

Gaara watched them all flutter about in their fashionable blue robes and compared them in his head to the groups of lower nobles in his world that he had encountered on occasion, and the similarity was uncanny. Clearly these were ‘cultured’ children, set apart from their more plebeian counterparts in Hogwarts.

 

One or two of the Beauxbatons students looked in his direction, him being relatively easy to spot in a crowd, and shared a politely covert whisper about the new celebrity from Hogwarts. Gaara might have been annoyed by this attention if he did not see Potter receiving ten times as many looks and whispers. Definitely shades of nobility to be found in these children.

 

The newly arrived were corralled into some semblance of order by their older students, much like the giant pegasi had been by Hagrid, while the headmistress was beckoned over to the red carpet on which Fudge, Bagman, Crouch and Dumbledore were waiting. Warm greetings were shared out of earshot and then silence as they all waited for the third school to arrive.

 

Hushed conversations continued within the divided crowds of teenagers after Hagrid had pulled the enormous equine conveyances towards the specially built stables. This had been difficult both due to their size and their apparent interest in the Hogwarts students in the opposite direction, although Gaara had a sinking feeling this was more to do with his presence within that group than the group as a whole. He was just about done with the spectacle, ready to head inside and enjoy the warmth and quiet, when shouts rose up again everybody looked to the Black Lake.

 

Yet more ridiculous means of travel: an underwater ship. It was becoming hard to think any less of magical minds when they kept confronting him with such stupidity again and again.

 

Five minutes after the ship had docked, the headmaster of Durmstrang marched up the stairs and into sight, standing at the head of a line of young men and women dressed in furs and standing like soldiers or barbarians. They completely lacked the refinement of the Beauxbatons contingent and the disorder of the Hogwarts pupils, which Gaara appreciated. None of them spared the other teenagers a second look, they kept their eyes straight ahead and maintained military discipline.

 

Gaara tried to imagine scrawny and aristocratic Draco standing alongside these hardened boys and girls as Lucius had originally intended. Narcissa was certainly in the right, as far as Gaara could see, having blocked that particular plan. They would have eaten Draco alive.

 

The headmasters and headmistress greeted each other again, less cordially this time, and then the Minister formally introduced himself. At that moment, Filch ran out of the castle and up to the select group of VIPs and world renowned academics, and told them that the final preparations had been completed and that they could go inside now.

 

Everyone doubted that the word of Argus Filch was what prompted the illustrious group to head inside, so it was amusing that he insisted on walking in front of them, as if he were playing a vital role in leading the way.

 

The assembled professors herded the students back into the castle, towards the Great Hall, and had them take their seats for the ceremony. Shortly thereafter, the French and Bulgarian schools followed and took their seats on the bleachers at either side of the hall. Each group’s entrance into the Great Hall came with a slight flourish, some acrobatics and magic demonstrated, but it was to pale in comparison to the spectacle Hogwarts had concocted by order of their Ministry. As such, if the heads of the foreign schools had been expecting awe or much more than raised eyebrows and smiles, they were disappointed. Olympe Maxine and Igor Karkaroff took their seats at the head of the hall alongside the hosting professors and waited for the opening to officially commence.

 

Gaara was sat in his customary seat at the Slytherin table and had reserved Draco’s ready for if he should join them after the showcase. A couple of his housemates tried to pull the chair out and one even told him to let it go, but Gaara ignored them all and held the seat in place. Not willing to make a scene, each and every challenger walked away to a place further down the hall.

 

Gaara did not pay much attention to the beginning of the evening’s event, uninterested in the formalities and niceties observed by the upper classes and politicians. Watching Dumbledore and Fudge play out some scene of friendly acquaintanceship and agreement was tedious, as were the public greetings to the visiting head teachers. All of this was being reported upon by half a dozen trusted international newspaper journalists and a radio presenter set up in the corner, describing everything that happened to a listening public.

 

If Draco were not set to perform, Gaara would have left already.

 

Fudge stood at the podium after the headmaster had said his part, “Why, thank you, Headmaster Dumbledore. Now, it is time for me to hand over proceedings to the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports, Ludovic Bagman.” Fudge’s words drew a polite round of applause, the fifth since the students had been seated, before he stepped back to stand at the head of the table, where Dumbledore was supposed to be, and watched Ludo approach the stand.

 

“It is my pleasure to announce the commencement of the three hundred and twenty-first Triwizard Tournament. We now all have the pleasure of witnessing one of Britain’s original contributions to this ancient and honourable institution, a spectacular opening performance, arranged and provided by the young men and women of Hogwarts.” Bagman clapped his hands grandly and took his seat to the side of the Minister.

 

The doors to the Great Hall had closed themselves discreetly during Fudge’s overlong speech at the start so that they could dramatically slam open upon Bagman’s signal. The candlelight dimmed further and the spectating crowd hushed their whispers which had punctuated the entire event thus far.

 

A thudding could be heard in the hall, coming closer with each bang until an enormous wooden cube rolled into sight outside of the door. Its size made some question whether it would even fit through the grand doors of the Great Hall, but no one knew quite what to think of this animated inanimate object, though it did serve to further heighten their anticipation.

 

It rolled right up to the opening and then continued inwards, just squeezing past the doorframe, but with each subsequent roll it left behind a surface of polished wood on the floor, covering the centre of the hall all the way up to the front where it stopped and then collapsed to cover the rest of the open space there. All watching were enraptured by this strange start and continued to watch as the wood covering the floor started to rise, thickening until it stood two feet deep and looked to be a solid stage.

 

Gaara didn’t like to admit that he had been somewhat impressed by the literal setting of the stage but it had been a rather dramatic entrance. Despite his better mind, Gaara had gained an objective understanding of the requirements for drama thanks to Kankuro over the years. His older brother was all about the drama.

 

The light outside of the hall was again disturbed, drawing attention back to the entrance, as the school choir and musicians took their places at that end of the stage, beginning a fast-paced piece of music Gaara couldn’t hope to recognise. Magic must have been employed to amplify or transmit the instruments as they sounded as clear as if they had been set up in the centre of the cavernous hall rather than outside of it.

 

With the music playing, the preparations were complete, and soon an enormous flaming dragon flew above the heads of the musicians and into the Great Hall. It circled and flew about above everyone’s heads in intricate patterns until landing at the head of the hall with its back to the professors and Ministry officials. When it was settled, it roared so loudly some of the first years nearly jumped out of their seats.

 

Suddenly, in ran four students dressed in brightly coloured robes, one red, one blue, one yellow, and one in Green, which tipped Gaara off that they must be playing the four founders. The founders squaring off against a great dragon brought to mind the introductory chapter of _Hogwarts: A History_ that retold the founding of the school in the tenth century.

 

As Gaara remembered it, the greatest dragon to ever be seen in Britain was terrorising the countryside until the four greatest witches and wizards of the time, leading an army made of the available magical community, fought the dragon all the way up to Scotland until Godric Gryffindor could strike the finishing blow with his sword, piercing the heart of ‘ _Y Draig Goch_ ’ and vanquishing the scourge.

 

The four actors on stage played out their roles in a pantomimed fight as other students appeared, wearing period rags, to back them up. They all sent brightly coloured sparks at the conjured fire dragon, which had been cast and was being controlled by four sixth years behind the orchestra.

 

As the ‘founders’ ducked and weaved around each other to cast all the more impressive fake spells, Gaara recognised the movements of Salazar Slytherin to be Draco’s. No wonder Draco had to go to all of those supplementary practices and always looked so tired, he was playing one of the lead roles. It was just as well since Lucius would have pitched a fit if Draco had been cast to play anybody less prestigious.

 

The dragon seemed to be gaining ground so the actor playing Gryffindor, who looked a bit like one of the Weasley twins, come to think of it, brandished a sword that Gaara could have sworn used to sit in Dumbledore’s office. That meant it was likely the real Sword of Gryffindor, which was a nice touch of authenticity mixed with reckless disregard for health and safety. Whichever of the twins ran forward, presumably safe behind some form of fire protection charm, and plunged the legendary sword into the dragon of flames, which thrashed and then started to fade until only smoke was left to rise into the rafters. Another short round of applause followed while the miscellaneous villager witches and wizards celebrated the slaying of the dragon.

 

The founders also declared some impressive sounding words that Gaara ignored in favour of trying to catch a glimpse of Draco’s face. He had been complaining all along that this thespian work was humiliating and below him, so Gaara was satisfied to see the blond’s expression full of earnest concentration. It was rewarding to see Draco not looking as burdened, even as the crowd on stage divided into four, presumably representing the forming of the four Houses, and he was stood at the head of his own miniature army.

 

After the players finished announcing the four founders’ core values, they all walked back to the exit in lockstep. Gaara was surprised and impressed that whoever had written this had managed to sidestep the animosity with which Salazar was said to have left the school. Knowing the universal prejudice of witches and wizards either for or against Slytherins, Gaara could only assume it had been a joint effort.

 

After the departure of Draco and the other founder actors, an unfamiliar boy emerged from Draco’s Slytherin group and as he walked he rapidly aged until he stood at the front looking uncannily like Merlin, three-foot-long beard included.

 

The performance went on with the newly formed Hogwarts Houses clearing away to allow someone dressed as a medieval knight, complete with golden crown, to approach Merlin. Merlin and Arthur continued for a while before things moved on. The hour-long play exhibited some of magical Britain’s proudest historical moments. Gaara, studious person that he was, recognised most of what was happening from the various books he had devoured since arriving.

 

Gaara spotted Draco in a few different roles through the rest of the performance, filling out the numbers in discreet ways. The action built to a climax as someone playing Dumbledore fought against someone who must have been Gellert Grindlewald. It was, by Gaara’s estimation, awkward with the man himself sat at the head of the hall watching also, with a significantly less pleased expression on his face than his actor counterpart.

 

The play stopped after that war, avoiding the assuredly problematic topic of the wizarding war against Voldemort’s forces. The performance ended with a rousing song and dance number which made Gaara wince as he imagined Draco somewhere in the costumed crowd on stage being forced to dance along. This was likely what drew the majority of Draco’s ire.

 

After the final beat had played, when the panting teenagers all crouched in their finishing positions, Dumbledore calmly and slowly walked out onto the stage to address the assembled crowds of students, visitors, and journalists, and pulled out his own wand. The sour look on his face as much a reflection of his ongoing disapproval of this event as his disappointment that his call for the ‘Hoggy Warty’ school song to be performed had been overruled. They hadn’t taken any of his suggestions.

 

“For a thousand years, the pupils of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry have learned and grown in this castle. It has seen the rise and fall of governments and empires, dark lords and ways of life. The challenges presented to any one of its children have been unique and caused more than one to stumble. Caused others to fall. However, I believe these challenges that we have all faced, all do face, and may yet face, are fitted to the times in which we live. The Triwizard Tournament is a dangerous challenge that many may wish to enter, but from those eligible, only the most capable will be selected by the Goble of Fire.

 

“Whether you are from Hogwarts or one of our esteemed sister schools, I wish you the best of luck in entering and through the tournament. You will need it.”

 

A number of Ministry workers wheeled a peculiar mini obelisk up to the podium and left it with the headmaster.

 

“And with this, it is my duty to announce the official start of the Triwizard Tournament!” He said, tapping his wand against what turned out to be the shell of the obelisk, which melted away to reveal the Goblet of Fire in all its glory.

 

Dumbledore retreated to his seat after this and Ludo Bagman resumed his place on stage to reaffirm the rules of entry.

 

“For the next twenty-four hours, any student of the three schools who is aged over fourteen may write his or her name on a piece of parchment along with the name of their school, and cast it into the flames, if they so wish. By order of the Ministry, no one is to stop any eligible prospective Champion from entering their name for consideration. An Age Line will be drawn to prevent ineligible applicants from submitting their names, and a guard will be positioned at the Goblet to make sure things run smoothly.”

 

Gaara looked along the adults at the head of the room and he found three sets of eyes on him. Fudge just happened to have been glancing at him at that moment and had immediately looked away when Gaara met his eyes. Morbidus had been looking around at each of the noteworthy children (there weren’t many of them) and his eyes happened to ghost over one of the most interesting of the lot. He held Gaara’s gaze for a few beats before casually looking away.

 

The last of the three did not seem to have such a casual interest. Dumbledore was staring right at him, seemingly waiting for Gaara to look in his direction. Gaara supposed the old man was worried he might not go through with their deal. Of course, Albus learned nothing from Gaara’s blank face to ease his uncertainty and worse than that, looking at the child, however lacking in ostensible innocence as he might be, the same creeping doubts about the morality of his plan resurfaced. For the greater good, it might be, but he found he was relying on the sacrifices of children too much in his old age.

 

He sat back in his chair and tried not to think about the immorality of his plans. Gaara was a trained fighter, from a different world where children did not enjoy the same sheltered existence that his own pupils did. It was the best option available.

 

If Albus ever permitted a biography, as many had proposed, it would probably be titled: _Albus Dumbledore: For Lack of a Better Idea_.

 

Gaara, for his part, was eyeing the Goblet that burned with a curious blue flame and wondering how he would best submit his name. He was allowed to go out at night but that permission might not be passed on to whoever they roped into guarding the Goblet of Fire, and the last thing this endeavour needed was him getting into a fight with the guard in the middle of the night. Not to mention the suspicion it might draw if nobody knew he had entered. He seemed to attract suspicion all the time.

 

The players of the opening ceremony were finally allowed up from their inconspicuous finishing poses to join their Housemates around the Great Hall. Gaara looked back when Draco pulled his chair out, and gave him a small smile in recognition of his hard work. Draco seemed to think he was being mocked because he gritted his teeth and looked away embarrassed.

 

After all of the festivities and pompous aggrandisement, the serving of dinner was anticlimactic. The Hogwarts student had a scant thirty minutes to finish all of their dinners before they were expected to vacate their seats for the visiting schools’ students. The reporters watched this with little interest and instead interviewed the Hogwarts staff and the Ministry officials they had access to. Pre-empting another attempt like that which the infamous Ms. Skeeter perpetrated at the start of the year, Dumbledore had demanded that the children be off limits to the press that evening and that only the Champions, after they were selected, would be open for interviews. That last part had been at the Minister’s insistence, not intending to keep the Champions away from the limelight.  

 

Dumbledore had also neglected to inform Gaara over the inevitable increased attention he would have to endure when he was selected. That part he was less guilt-ridden over.


	7. Chapter 7: Same Old Lies

Disclaimer: I do not own either Harry Potter (rightfully owned by J.K Rowling) or Naruto (rightfully owned by Masashi Kishimoto) nor do I make any money out of this fiction. I will also add that any sections or phrases in this chapter that bear resemblance to works by either author or from movies based on works of said authors is recreated in the same spirit of free usage and is not for profit.

 

A/N: …Well… I’m not going to pretend that I’ve been tirelessly writing this small chapter to the highest standards. As you may have guessed from my publishing this rather than a chapter of SSNN, I have been struck by an awful writer’s block.

 

Still, I hope this small offering will keep you interested a little longer until I can recover from this block (again) and come up with something more substantial.

                                          

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(Last Time)

_After all of the festivities and pompous aggrandisement, the serving of dinner was anticlimactic. The Hogwarts student had a scant thirty minutes to finish all of their dinners before they were expected to vacate their seats for the visiting schools’ students. The reporters watched this with little interest and instead interviewed the Hogwarts staff and the Ministry officials they had access to. Pre-empting another attempt like that which the infamous Ms. Skeeter perpetrated at the start of the year, Dumbledore had demanded that the children be off limits to the press that evening and that only the Champions, after they were selected, would be open for interviews. That last part had been at the Minister’s insistence, not intending to keep the Champions away from the limelight._

_Dumbledore had also neglected to inform Gaara over the inevitable increased attention he would have to endure when he was selected. That part he was less guilt-ridden over._

 

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The exodus from the Great Hall was not quite the grand spectacle that the entrance had been, and instead of hope-filled whispers and excitement, the students were filled with trepidation. This downturn was most certainly temporary for the majority of them and had been caused by Professor Dumbledore’s parting words for the evening.

 

It was no secret that the staff at Hogwarts disapproved of the Triwizard Tournament that had been forced upon them, but the Headmaster’s final warning had been somewhat more honest than any of them had been expecting. He had warned each and every one of the eligible teenagers to think hard before entering their names into the Goblet. If they were to enter, they had to be prepared to risk their lives. They would not be the first to die in a Tournament.

 

Gaara was glad to be leaving the Hall finally. The crowd, which personally he felt he had dealt with admirably, was getting to be too much for him. There were hundreds of people all around him and whenever he found himself in such situations, he had to endure the social anxiety coupled with the real danger of the demon inside of him breaking out and killing everyone.

 

So really he had to deal with two kinds of anxiety…

 

Still, as upsetting as the Hall had been, the claustrophobic feeling of walking amidst the entirety of Hogwarts’ student body, coupled with the contingents from Durmstrang and Beuxbatons, was almost overwhelming. Gaara was one more jostle away from hopping onto a wall and leaving the fast way.

 

He lamented the fact that none of these people still wished him ill as Shukaku’s automatic defence was as useful as Gaara’s wand in the wave of benign humans.

 

Draco, seeing the discomfort on his friend’s face, tried as best he could to divert some of the crushing procession away from them.

 

Gaara had noticed that the blond was quiet over dinner, outwardly mortified by his preceding performance, but by the way he kept glancing down and straightening his outfit, Gaara knew Draco was secretly proud of his role.

 

Within the deluge of chattering teens, many of whom were already overcoming the chill Dumbledore had left them with and were glancing back at the Goblet as they shuffled out into the main foyer, the foreign students were mingled together with their hosts in clusters. The initial awkwardness was fast fading as the friendly Britons were beginning to talk to their guests about all manner of topics.

 

Draco had taken a keen interest in this mingling as his father had given him a firm directive to make himself available to the Durmstrang students. His father, sensing the turning tide against him in British politics, was looking to spread their family influence to the international purist community. Draco guessed that his father was going to make some sort of power grab in the future and wanted support where he could get it, but Draco had never been the accomplished diplomat that his mother was and doubted his ability to charm the ostensibly charmless Durmstrang students.

 

Not to mention that he did not want to.

 

Draco was still mulling over his father’s career when a pair of the largest teenagers he had ever seen barged between Gaara and he. The two behemoths, Durmstrang seventh-years that made Crabbe and Goyle look positively scrawny, smirked after having rudely accosted the two Slytherins. They towered over Draco, having turned around after pushing past them, but the taller of the two was nearly twice Gaara’s height. It was almost comical, the difference in size between them.

 

“We’ve heard that you are a formidable fighter.” The slightly shorter of the two started, addressing Gaara.

 

No introduction, no preamble. Draco tried to look down his nose at the taller boys but decided it would necessitate an uncomfortable neck angle to accomplish. Still, scorn was richly deserved by the mannerless pair. He settled on a haughty sneer.

 

Gaara glared at them but didn’t answer.

 

His glare might have been from the shoving, from the contemptuous conversation starter, or from is pre-existing bad mood, Draco couldn’t be sure.

 

“We heard that you were small but when the people here said that you were the Gaara that was talked about in the news, we couldn’t believe it.” They continued.

 

Draco also couldn’t believe someone was being so rude upon first meeting, let alone to Gaara, of all people. Even the Gryffindors had more tact (barring the Weasleys, of course.)

 

“Yes, tell us, the stories reported were… exaggerated, yes?” The other chimed in, his accent even harsher than the first.

 

“There was no need for exaggeration. Gaara did everything in the papers and more.” Draco spoke up.

 

“Everyone speaks for him. Does the little warrior not have a voice of his own?” The first said derisively.

 

Draco almost smiled at how close to the truth that statement had come, but this confrontation did not leave him with enough good humour to muster the facial expression.

 

“He does not even speak in his defence.” The second finished.

 

“A demonstration might be more effective.” Gaara said at last, irritable beyond his usual defiant silence. Plus, with the size and attitude of these two boys, there was a small chance they might be able to put up a fight.

 

The battle-hungry look on Gaara’s face was leaking past his ceramic façade and even people other than Draco were able to sense the impending danger. Although, coming from a boy so much smaller than them with an arguably delicate appearance, the Durmstrang pair failed to comprehend the peril in which they had placed themselves.

 

The enormous boys looked straight down at the tiny redhead, expression as fierce as any man they had encountered, and both together laughed at the absurdity.

 

“We did not mean to offend, little fighter.” The taller said with a broad smile, hands raised between them in surrender.

 

“I had thought you British were more… composed.” The other added.

 

“Yes, composed.” The taller boy confirmed.

 

“I am not from this country.” Gaara ground out.

 

“Ah, yes, we thought you looked different. Are all of the people in your homeland as small as you are?”

 

Gaara’s continued bristling was interrupted when, in a manner reminiscent of how the Durmstrang pair had barged between Draco and he, a newcomer barged between them. He was somewhat shorter than them but still towered over Draco and Gaara. More than making up for his lesser height, this new boy was built as sturdily as anyone in the Durmstrang contingent.

 

Gaara was as nonplussed by this newest interloper as he had been by the original pair, but for some reason Draco’s guard seemed to drop upon first sighting the boy. Gaara did not recognise him so he guessed that this must be some long-lost relative of Draco’s, or an old pureblood acquaintance.

 

“Are you causing trouble again, Ambras, or you, Mikhail?” The newcomer asked, managing to stare down the two larger boys with none of the obvious and futile effort Draco had to manifest. “I am very sorry for these two. As you can see, they have no manners.” He smiled at Gaara and Draco confidently.

 

Gaara was eagerly awaiting Draco’s snarky agreement but when none came, he looked and found the blond still awestruck. Not a relative, then. And probably not a pureblood fanatic.

 

“You’re Viktor Krum.” Draco said.

 

“Yes.” Viktor said, smirking at the familiar routine.

 

Gaara tried to recall where he had heard that name before. Some sort of celebrity? But why would he have heard a celebrity’s name? Draco, for all of his gossiping, was not much of a pop-culture fanatic (that he would admit, anyhow). The only famous things he talked about were politics and Quidditch. Both unlikely, but since politics were clearly not the answer…

 

“You’re a Quidditch player?” Gaara asked, to be sure.

 

Krum seemed to find this amusing, “Yes.”

 

Draco turned on Gaara as if he had just sworn in polite company. He seemed to be on the verge of lecturing Gaara about some uninteresting Quidditch trivia but thankfully this Krum person spoke up again.

 

“You do not follow sports but I have heard of you. You helped defend your school.”

 

Gaara turned back to him, wondering if everyone had heard about that. If he’d known how widespread this would become, he might have thought twice about killing all of the dementors.

 

Krum waited for a response but, as he was to learn, Gaara was seldom pressured into speaking when he did not want to. A remnant of the time he had spent unable to respond to the drawn-out awkward silences which often occurred around him for some reason. Still, his siblings, should he ever meet them again, would surely consider this silence an improvement upon the things he used to say. Now he kept the insults and threats mostly to himself.

 

“…Again, I apologise on behalf of my school.” Krum said at last, unsure of what language or cultural barrier had stilted the conversation thus far.

 

Gaara nodded and waited for him to leave with his overgrown associates. Hopefully, after they fell back in with the slow-moving crowd, Draco might awaken from his celebrity stupor and could be relied upon for semi-intelligent conversation.

 

Sadly, that hope was forlorn as Draco started regaling Gaara with every factoid of Viktor Krum’s Quidditch career as soon as they reached the stairs to the Dungeons. He had only waited that long because a great many students from each of the schools had congregated outside of the Great Hall when there was enough space to do so, and Draco didn’t want anyone from Durmstrang hearing him act like a fan-boy about one of their schoolmates.

 

As if they hadn’t heard dozens of Hogwarts students doing the exact same thing that evening.

 

Even after they reached their room, Draco was still rattling off Quidditch minutia, which made Gaara wonder how much further Draco might be in his studies if he had directed this fervour towards his academic pursuits instead of a hobby. Perhaps that was one of the greatest reasons that children in Gaara’s world could fight in wars and perform earth-shattering feats, while children here seemed so behind: they had hobbies.

 

Gaara didn’t have any hobbies, besides cultivating his cacti and reading from time to time. Kankuro had his puppets, but they were part of his ninja career. Temari didn’t have any hobbies, really, though Gaara admitted he knew less about her coming and goings than he did about Kankuro’s.

 

And, thinking of one of the only other shinobi he actually knew, _he_ didn’t have any hobbies, either, except perhaps for his ramen obsession, but that hardly counted.

 

“Quidditch is a distraction.” Gaara ventured, catching Draco in the middle of changing out of his opening ceremony costume. It was the first break in the flow of the ‘conversation’.

 

“A distraction from what?” Draco returned, his pyjama shirt halfway over his head.

 

“From your school career.” Gaara said.

 

“I think you’ll find school is a distraction from Quidditch.” Draco snottily replied, finishing his dressing for the night, wondering when exactly Gaara had started speaking like Draco’s mother.

 

Gaara chewed on that facetious counterargument for a moment before dismissing it.

 

“You did well tonight.” Gaara threw out the compliment, causing Draco to blush and look over suddenly, as if to gauge whether Gaara was joking or not. Sarcasm was entirely beyond the redhead’s skill set, he remembered, seeing no sign of a smirk on Gaara’s face.

 

“Well, they certainly won’t be getting me to do anything like this again.” Draco said. “I’ll be glad to forget the whole thing happened.”

 

Gaara heard him say these words and then watched him delicately fold up the costume and store it safely in the bottom of his drawers, after a quick cleaning charm.

 

Once he had carefully stored his one-time outfit, he fell back onto his bed and picked up the novel he had left on his bedside table. Even now, Draco assiduously avoided muggle literature, despite the unfavourable quality difference. Gaara suspected it was more that Draco didn’t recognise many of the references made in muggle fiction, rather than a more insidious prejudice.

 

Of course Gaara made no such distinctions. A brief foray into muggle non-fiction over the summer had confirmed what he had been told, that muggles possessed no means to travel between dimensions, and any such technology was centuries away.

 

Over the top of his trashy, best-seller novel, Draco instigated a conversation when his mind refused to stick to the pages in front of him.

 

“What are your thoughts regarding the other schools?” He asked.

 

Gaara contemplated the question. He had a number of thoughts, but he assumed Draco was really asking about his opinion on the visitors as a whole.

 

“They are very different from the students of Hogwarts. The Durmstrang students are militaristic but still undisciplined. The Beauxbatons students are… cultured.” Gaara was reluctant to disparage the French students for their delicate epicenity when Draco, who shared a number of these soft characteristics, was present.

 

“Of course, father wanted me to go to Durmstrang.” Draco said.

 

“I remember.”

 

“Yes, well, seeing them all now, I’m glad mother intervened.” As if Draco had ever wanted to join the harsh winter school.

 

“Not even for its proximity to Viktor Krum?” Gaara asked.

 

“There isn’t anyone who can match him at the school level so there wouldn’t be much to see. And I can say from experience that friendship with a celebrity isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” Draco smiled.

 

“I’m not a celebrity.” Gaara stated.

 

“No, no, of course not. I was talking about Potter. Who would want to be friends with _him_.” Draco smirked.

 

Gaara tried to work out from Draco expression if he had actually meant Harry all along but gave up when he found no clues.

 

“Besides, other than Krum, there didn’t seem to be anyone else of real interest there. Like a school full of Crabbes and Goyles.” Draco sneered.

 

“What about Beauxbatons?” Gaara ventured.

 

“What about it?”

 

“How do you think you would have done there?”

 

“I’m sure I would have done well anywhere.” Draco quipped. “At least they have proper table manners, which is more than I can say for Durmstrang, or half of Hogwarts, for that matter...”

 

Gaara stayed quiet since his own table manners were still several notches below Draco’s preferred standards. Eating with chopsticks for most of his life, and living alone or with teenagers for his developmental years had had one or two detrimental effects on his etiquette.

 

“And you simply can’t compare the girls at Beauxbatons with Durmstrang or ours. They have the looks _and_ the class, unlike the girls here. Even in Slytherin, it can be slim pickings.” Draco smiled.

 

Gaara again refrained from commenting, never sure of how to respond to such conversations. Kankuro had given up discussing girls with his younger brother since the redhead had never shown the slightest comprehension on the subject. Plus, even Gaara could see that his big brother was not popular with girls in their village.

 

Something about the combination of poor dress sense, creepy puppet fascination and an infamous, psychotic little brother had severely limited Kankuro’s romantic appeal, according to Temari.

 

Kankuro had rebutted with the argument that Temari had to go all the way to Konoha to find a boy.

 

Like then, Gaara was lost by the conversation and Draco could see it on his face.

 

Realising the utter folly of trying to talk about girls with Gaara, Draco changed the subject back to the familiar topic of contempt for the idiocy of those contemplating entering the Tournament and for the scaredy-cats who had been shaken by the Goblet of Fire and Dumbledore’s warning.

 

Awkwardness mostly forgotten, they conversed easily until Draco could no longer string a coherent sentence together. Often this happened, that he would forget Gaara’s insomnia and rely on the boy who doesn’t sleep to remind him when they should turn off the lights and go to bed.

 

Nevertheless, his tiredness could no longer guarantee him an undisturbed nights sleep. Not after the full moon.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

The dining rota served to annoy just about everyone the next morning. It was never a welcome thing, to be told to wait for your breakfast, or to rush it along so that the next group could take your seat. Fortunately, the resentment never went any further than a few dirty looks.

 

It helped that every few minutes, someone would stand to shuffle over to the Goblet, under the watchful eyes of every student and professor in the Hall, and submit their names. It always drew applause.

 

Gaara had noticed, though, that not one of the entries had yet come from a Slytherin. Gaara knew that a couple of them had intentions to enter and wondered what they were waiting for. Perhaps for the Hall to clear so that their probable rejection would not be as public. Maybe they were all talk and were not going to enter after all.

 

Sounded about right.

 

The Goblet had been under guard all night by professors Sinistra and Vector since Sinistra ‘was going to be up anyway’ and Vector had volunteered to keep her company. Strangely, Vector didn’t look nearly as tired as Sinistra despite it being she who was supposed to be nocturnal. Neither of them seemed particularly pleased to be there and both elected to skip breakfast when Hagrid and Sprout arrived to relieve them for the morning shift. They both simply marched out of the Great Hall and went to their quarters.

 

Since the Goblet was to be guarded every second of the twenty-four hours, many of the Hogwarts professors had been drafted to do the job. Apparently the job was too important to ignore but not important enough to involve Aurors. Still, Minerva, Severus, and Alastor had all managed to avoid the dubious honour. The former pair were busy and acrimonious, and the latter professor had claimed he was too old and needed his rest these days.

 

At least there were no classes that day to be interrupted by the professors’ supplementary duty. It also meant that after breakfast officially ended, only half of the student body actually left the Hall to entertain themselves on this extra day off, the rest staying put to find entertainment with the slow procession of entries.

 

None of the professors were eager to sit and watch so they all departed as soon as the meal was over, leaving only the guards to supervise all of the teenagers. It was at this opportune moment that a pair of obviously underage Gryffindor boys tried to sneak around behind the head table and the guards, and come up behind the Goblet to put their names in.

 

Gaara watched this happen curiously, safe in the knowledge that even if he wasn’t the one selected to represent Hogwarts, by no measure could either of the two boys be considered Hogwarts’ champion. Even the professor guarding the Goblet were fully aware of what was happening behind their backs.

 

Whether it was the hundreds of eyes staring behind them, or the sounds of the boys’ shoes on the raised professors’ dining area, or having watched the tiptoeing pair walk around the walls of the Hall towards the back; Hagrid and Sprout were both wilfully ignoring them.

 

The boys, who could be no older than thirteen a piece, felt safe when they were directly behind the guards and walked right up to the Goblet, gingerly stepping over the magical line Dumbledore had drawn around the area after dinner last night.

 

What they clearly didn’t notice in their sneaking, and what Gaara focussed on in those seconds, was that despite their feet never touching the whispy, floating line, it seemed to catch on them. As they walked those last couple of steps to the stone Goblet, it was dragged along by them. And when they raised their hands, holding their names, the Age Line snapped taut and flung the boys out of the area, head over heels.

 

They landed with thuds and thunderous applause by the amused onlookers, even a great deal of Slytherins, who would always applaud Gryffindors hurting themselves like idiots. Gaara, however, was less amused by the stupid children trying to volunteer for certain death.

 

Harry was thinking along the same lines. Who in their right mind, especially those even younger and less skilled than him, would want to enter?

 

“Who in their right mind would even want to enter?” Ron scowled over his morning porridge, making Harry smile at how their minds were in sync.

 

They watched Sprout finally turn to tell the boys off and make sure they weren’t hurt too badly. Hermione said she hoped they knocked some sense into themselves. “Honestly! Trying to get past an Age Line that Dumbledore drew himself!” She huffed, scooping some scrambled eggs onto her toast.

 

“Well, I mean, I can’t really blame them for trying.” Ron said. “Stupid wanting to enter but you don’t try, you never know...” Ron looked oddly contemplative at the end.

 

Harry began to wonder if they were thinking the same thing after all.

 

“Ron, you’re not honestly thinking of entering, are you?”

 

“Of course not, Herm.” Ron said, his attention drifting away from the conversation again. His eyes had been periodically darting to where he had last spotted the twins, to make sure they hadn’t disappeared amongst the lingering crowds. Ginny was at the far end of the table doing the same thing. Between them, they had the pair under total surveillance.

 

Harry and Hermione both sympathised with Ron, having to spy on his brothers under threat of his mother’s wrath, just as Ginny was. They knew how scary Molly Weasley could be when she was angry, not that she had ever acted that was towards either of them. They had seen her angry at her own children often enough, though.

 

Mrs Weasley was adamant that her youngest children would stop the twins in every way that wouldn’t get them arrested for interfering in the Tournament.

 

It was in the late morning, as the flow of entries into the Tournament had begun to slow and the audience had begun to begun to diminish as the students wandered away, that the twins made their move. Ginny spotted them first as Ron had been heatedly debating with Hermione the relative health benefits of eating a third chocolate frog before noon. Harry thought he was putting up a pretty good argument, all things considered.

 

Mortified to show more of her family drama in front of her friends and classmates, but more afraid of her mother’s wrath should she fail, Ginny jumped to her feet and moved to block the twins’ path. They smiled as they approached, looming over her with the latest of their growth spurts, and she realised that the illegality of her physically stopping her big brothers would not be the only reason she did not try that method.

 

Highly conscious of the number of eyes on her, she stood on her tiptoes and leaned between her brothers to whisper a number of threats, some centred around their parents and a great deal more that were purely violent in nature. She felt she had been pretty creative with her threats so she deflated a little when the both snickered, took turns patting her on the head, and then barged past her, almost knocking her over.

 

She screamed something at them that she would have certainly lost House points for were it not for the fact that the only professors in the Hall were busy reminiscing about their summer activities.

 

The twins sauntered up to the Goblet brazenly and tossed their names in before turning and bowing in front of their applauding public. They looked so proud of themselves until they noticed their little sister jogging out of the Great Hall. It dawned on them that some of the things Ginny had threatened might not have been empty, and that she was now on her way to rat them out to their mother.

 

Following the soft applause came a round of laughter as everyone watched the pair sprint down the steps and along the centre of the Great Hall after Ginny.

 

“Aren’t you going to follow and make sure she’s alright?” Hermione said, readying herself to give chase alongside Ron.

 

“Nah, she’ll be fine. Nothing they ain’t done to her before.” Ron said, pulling out a piece of parchment and his quill that he’d had stashed in his sleeves. “Did you bring Hedwig, Harry?”

 

“Yeah, she’s waiting above the Courtyard.” Harry said, having leaned back in his seat to watch the twins disappear out of the Hall and up the stairs after Ginny, hoping she would be alright as Ron had said.

 

“I’m surprised you’re so ready to tell on them.” Hermione said. “I mean, I’m not criticising but normally you wouldn’t be so eager.” She said while Ron scratched away at the parchment.

 

“He’s not eager, Herm. Mrs Weasley told him and Ginny that whoever is last to tell her will be punished as bad as them.” Harry said.

 

“That doesn’t seem very fair.” She said.

 

“It’s not, but I’m not letting Ginny beat me.” Ron said, finally signing his name with a hasty flourish and folding the note. He rose to his feet but Hermione remained sat with Harry as Ron darted out of the Hall and headed towards Hedwig had been handily stationed. He was bound to beat Ginny now. It would take her ages to write her own note, run up to the owlery and send off Pigwidgeon, all while evading the twins. Hedwig was much faster and she had at least a ten minute head start.

 

He showered Hedwig with praise when she flew down to him but she took no notice of his flattery and instead set off on her journey. She was a one-human bird and had no time for her keeper’s associates.

 

He was breathing heavily by the time he got back to the Hall. Wheezing, he offered his thanks again to Harry and drank a mug of pumpkin juice.

 

“What do you think your mum’s gonna do to the twins and Ginny?” Harry asked.

 

“I dunno, mate, but if it’s half as bad as what mum wrote, I wouldn’t want to be them tomorrow.” Ron said, a haunted look in his eyes.

 

Gaara had watched the Weasley family drama and listened to Draco’s disparaging commentary on how they were probably arguing over a morsel of cheese.

 

A couple of hours after breakfast had actually ended, Gaara bored of the trickle of name submissions and left the Great Hall. Draco gravitated towards his other friends and they chatted for a while, the conversation repeatedly drifting back to the ceremony last night. Draco blushingly spoke of it but always diverted the conversation back away from it.

 

Now that the event had happened, he was released from his confidentiality and he would have to explain his complicity to his parents. They would understand, they had to, but no doubt he would still receive a scathing response from his father and an embarrassed one from his mother. His mother would tell him that being a thespian was not a suitable hobby but that nobody would ‘hold this instance against him’, while his father would say something similar, rant about Fudge, and then tell Draco to publically disavow the event in the strongest possible terms.

 

It would go unsaid that both were proud he had been asked to play Salazar Slytherin, out of all the participating Slytherin students.

 

At least Gaara never had to deal with this pressure…

 

Draco realised he had just wished his parents dead and had envied the life of hardship Gaara had been raised in, so he spent five minutes feeling hideously guilty before rejoining the conversation. He would properly punish himself for his callousness by writing to his parents before lunch.

 

His letter would also need to pre-empt his mother’s questions about how he was, how Gaara was, and reassure her that neither he nor Gaara were stepping within twenty feet of the Goblet… unlike the Weasleys. As if that were in doubt.

 

There hadn’t been any morning post, as they had been warned, and there would not be any evening post either. Letters were being allowed out but someone (Fudge) was not letting any owls into the castle. An attempt, Draco assumed, to stop parents from making one last plea to prevent their children from entering. It was cruel but Draco understood the reason.

 

Father really was right, though; Fudge’s days were numbered if he was resorting to preventing parents from talking to their children so he could force them to perform deadly stunts.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

Gaara had been wandering the corridors of Hogwarts, during the daylight hours for a change, to stretch his legs and gets some fresh air. Well, as fresh as the air inside could be, since he had no desire to venture out into the frigid autumnal Scottish cold. He had hoped beyond reason that last year had been an outlier, that normally the country was warmer than it had been…

 

Turned out, last year had been mild.

 

That said, no matter how cold it was outside, Gaara was eventually forced to endure it to escape the crowds.

 

He fled after a small group of Beauxbatons boys had cornered him with the intention of ingratiating themselves with the local celebrity. For some reason, they thought the best way to do this was to follow him around, repeatedly asking for stories of the Attack on Hogwarts, to introduce them to other interesting Hogwarts students, and to discuss any one of a hundred different subjects he had no interests in. When one started on the topic of fashion and the correct use of eyeliner, Gaara pushed past them and fled without having spoken a single word to any of them.

 

Gaara was soon too far away to hear one of the French students calling him the rudest person he had ever met.

 

A passing Ravenclaw pair did the perplexed Beauxbatons students a favour and explained that Gaara was entirely without tact and that they shouldn’t take it personally. The pair then proceeded to discuss with the French boys the prevailing theory in the Ravenclaw tower, that Gaara was in fact a rare form of daytime Vampire (a 62% probability according to the latest analysis).

 

The foreign students left that exchange further confused, not just by this bizarre theory, but by the fact that such a popular and damning belief did nothing to diminish the respect everyone seemed to feel for Gaara. Clearly he was someone to be revered, whether human, new breed of vampire, or something else entirely.

 

By then, while the Beauxbatons students were disseminating the rumours of Gaara’s power and influence across the school, the redhead himself was in the Forbidden Forrest, wrapped heavily against the weather, taking a nap on top of Fluffy, who was also snoozing.

 

Even without having witnessed that undignified scene, many Slytherins who heard the reverence with which the Ravenclaws were speaking of Gaara to the Beauxbatons students were quick to spread the other side of the story. They balanced out the scales with a number of anecdotes about Gaara not knowing how to perform rudimentary spells, his single attempt at flying on a broom, and quite a few stories beyond.

 

Frankly, beyond the specifics of respect or failings, Gaara would have been mortified to hear so many people talking about him. He also would not have appreciated Draco, who had been approached quickly by those who had been told of their friendship, telling everyone how feckless he could be.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

Luna had taken her customary table in the Library and placed upon it her customary tower of books like it was any other day. Though, unlike many previous days, she was almost totally alone in the expansive repository of knowledge, as even her Housemates had deserted the books for other pursuits.

 

Before settling there, Luna had tried looking for Gaara since she hadn’t seen him much as of late. She had no luck finding him, which meant he was probably in the forest or in the Slytherin dorms. She couldn’t blame him, either way, since Gaara didn’t like crowds or attention, and the school was terribly busy and everybody seemed to be abuzz about him.

 

She had approached Draco towards the end of her search, since he was about the best authority on Gaara and his comings and goings. He had been her last stop since he had never made much of an effort to obfuscate his dislike for her so she was always reluctant to rely upon him for such things.

 

He was difficult to read when he was with his other friends, so Luna could not be totally sure if he was lying when he said he didn’t know where Gaara had gone off to. It was a shame, after having gone to the trouble of approaching him under such scrutiny, to be turned away having gained nothing but contemptuous looks.

 

If even Draco didn’t know his location, Gaara almost certainly did not want to be found.

 

Still, if Gaara was going to hide, it would have been nice if Ginny weren’t also detained. She had some sort of family emergency to deal with, apparently.

 

Far from the pleasant companionship or conversation Luna had been seeking, she soon found herself under the same scrutiny that had driven Gaara from the castle. They had found her shortly after she entered the Library, but she did not want to talk to the boys and girls from Beauxbatons. They only wanted to gossip about her friend and she knew that was rude so she asked them politely to leave, unless they wanted to discuss one of a number of different subjects (none of them ostensibly related to Gaara, though one was about Tanuki…)

 

Once the overly-curious boys and girls had rejected the idea of conversing further with Luna, as so many had before them, they took a look around the famous Hogwarts Library. The tour didn’t last long as they were apparently not the most studious pupils attending Beauxbatons, and one library looked like any other to them. They skirted around the undeniably odd blonde girl on their way out.

 

She watched them go out the corner of her eye and then she delved back into her book. Professor McGonagall had mentioned an obscure form of Transfiguration involving automated transfigurative magical artefacts, mixing Transfiguration with Charms, yesterday.

 

Her teacher had insisted that the practice was rare, difficult, and would not be covered unless they decided to continue their Transfiguration education after leaving Hogwarts, but this did nothing to deter Luna’s interest. She found the three books in the Library that mentioned it and the one that actually covered the subject in full, and had decided now was the time to get lost in the subject.

 

Hopefully someone would rouse her from her studies when it was time for the selection this evening, otherwise there was a good chance she would forget. She had read through meals, nights, and lessons before, all without noticing anything was amiss.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

Albus had not stayed to watch the entries, it was agitating him too much.

 

No matter how omniscient some of his students (and ex-students) in the school thought him to be, Albus did not see or know everything that happened here. However, he was usually aware of what went on, and today he was definitely aware of what had _not_ happened.

 

Sick with guilt as he was, driven from the Great Hall by what he had been forced to do and what he had failed to prevent, Albus was still waiting on Gaara’s entry. He had covertly asked one of the less talkative portraits to come and notify him if a certain redhead entered their name into the Goblet.

 

A worrying thought, even worse than the notion of what he was waiting on, occurred him: what if Gaara did not enter?

 

If Gaara reneged on their deal and refused to enter, it was too late to do anything more. It was the eleventh hour and a regular child might be the Champion forced to participate thanks to their greed or hubris.

 

At least Harry had not been foolish enough to wander near the Goblet. He had also asked Sir Philipe Van Hansen’s portrait to come and tell him if the boy did enter.

 

Albus had work to do, papers piling up on his desk and the promise of countless parental complaints tomorrow morning, but all he could do was count down the hours until this evening’s ceremony.

 

It was on days like this that Albus would step over to his most secure files and he would take out a single scroll he had drafted sometime after 1971. It had been then that he realised his second greatest sin and for which he had spent the last twenty years trying to atone, through battle and subterfuge.

 

On that day, after the disastrous meeting that had opened his eyes to his utter failings, he had written out his resignation with plans to submit it soon after. And then, before long, stirrings of the impending first war began to appear and he knew he could not step down just yet. There was still work to be done, and good that he could accomplish as headmaster.

 

Now, again, as he often did in times of stress, Albus looked down at the scroll and wondered if this year would be the year for him to retire. His decisions over the last few years had begun to feel less and less like the path to the greater good, and more like compromises that were only compounding his sins.

 

He could fight Tom’s return away from here, surely. He could devote himself fully to the fight.

 

And once that was done and the war was won, he could finally rest. Maybe start writing that book he started in the forties. So far it had five pages and an outline of the last chapter…

 

With a sigh, he dropped the scroll back into the drawer and re-secured it. Not today. Too much still to be done.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

As the autumnal skies dimmed and the evening chill settled, the students who had drifected out of the Hall during the course of the day began to flock back there, ready for the next ceremony to begin. This process started over an hour before the selection was supposed to start, giving the teachers ample time to track down the stragglers and corral them towards the Hall.

 

“She’s not so much a cat as a border collie.” Pomona stage-whispered to Hagrid as they both watched the Gryffindor head follow behind a group many times larger than any other that a teacher had brought with them.

 

Hagrid chuckled a little but looked away before Minerva could look his way.

 

When the entire student body was gathered, minus the two teenagers stuck in the infirmary that night (they would hear about how they missed the most exciting dinner for months to come), and there was only thirty minutes left until the allotted twenty-four hours elapsed, that Gaara ambled back into the room.

 

He was one of the last to arrive at the Hall, having avoided all of the teachers sent to collect him, but he was pretty easy to spot when he did get there. The red hair and scowl really stood out from across the room so Draco immediately stood and waved him over. He had arrived earlier after leaving the Hall around the lunchtime, and had saved Gaara’s seat.

 

Draco was surprised when Gaara didn’t look his way, since Gaara did not like to linger and always went straight for his seat. Instead, a strange wav of anxiety washed over him as Gaara continued walking down the centre aisle. Draco assumed Gaara had seen him out of the corner of his eye and was just going around the long way to their seats.

 

But Gaara did not follow the table around and come back towards Draco when he got to the end, instead, in front of every student from Hogwarts, the collected staff, and the assembled visitors, Gaara strode right up to the Goblet between the guards and threw in his name.

 

The silence lasted another beat before a steady applause rose amongst the onlookers for the first time in hours. Gaara had not turned to see the acclaim, instead he paused, stood between the Goblet’s guards, and glared directly at the Headmaster.

 

The clapping ceased and the awkwardness of the moment silenced the room for a moment. Nobody knew why Gaara, who had inexplicably just entered himself into the Triwizard Tournament of all things, would hold such animosity towards Albus Dumbledore.

 

Before the whispering could start up, Gaara turned on his heel and descended the steps back to the main floor of the Hall, walking slowly back to his seat under the gaze of the room. He didn’t meet Draco’s eyes, however, as he approached.

 

Draco, on the other hand, was so shocked that his mouth was literally agape.

 

Conversations picked up again by the time Gaara had reached him, so Draco was feeling less self-conscious about the piece of his mind he was about to give his friend over this latest lie. Hell, even if everyone in their House heard this, it was high time he told Gaara what he thought.

 

When Gaara was upon him, still averting his eyes like an errant schoolchild (which he technically was), Draco took a deep breath in preparation of the tongue-lashing he was ready to give, but then the chatter that had arisen suddenly stopped and the Hall went deathly silent.

 

Draco looked up at the head of the room, his focus having been on Gaara for the past minute or two, and he realised that Dumbledore was about to commence the ceremony. Gaara silently took his seat at Draco’s side and the platinum blond let out his impotent breath and tried to quell the rage-induced headache he could feel coming on.

 

Screaming at Gaara would have to wait until this was over, since. While Draco was content to let Slytherin hear Gaara’s bollocking, he was not yet ready to air their dirty laundry in front of the collected British press.

 

Draco couldn’t be sure, but he was beginning to think that Gaara had somehow timed his entry to coincide with the arrival of the reporters and Minister Fudge.

 

With the ensuing ruckus, Draco’s attention was reluctantly called to proceedings happening at the end of the Hall, but the thought still remained in the back of his mind: Gaara lied to him again.

 

He would have to make sure Gaara did not sneak away at the end of the ceremony.

 

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A/N: I hope that in spite of its length, and the fact that I haven’t had a chance to properly proof-read it, you enjoyed the chapter.

 

Hopefully I will be back soon with more.


	8. Same Old Evasions

Disclaimer: I do not own either Harry Potter (rightfully owned by J.K Rowling) or Naruto (rightfully owned by Masashi Kishimoto) nor do I make any money out of this fiction. I will also add that any sections or phrases in this chapter that bear resemblance to works by either author or from movies based on works of said authors is recreated in the same spirit of free usage and is not for profit.

 

A/N: Another slower-than-ideal update. What can I say? Writer’s block is a curse. I hope this update, longer than the last chapter by a fair bit, will suffice as an apology for the continual delays.

 

As I have in the past, I want to thank my readers for their continued support and reviews that have helped to reinvigorate me and my writing. Spiral of Destiny and the Soul Siblings in particular have helped coach me through this latest block with patience and generosity.

 

To avoid rambling too much, I think I will just leave you with the chapter and wish you all a Happy New Year (belatedly).

 

I hope you enjoy.

 

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(Last Time)

 

_Draco looked up at the head of the room, his focus having been on Gaara for the past minute or two, and he realised that Dumbledore was about to commence the ceremony. Gaara silently took his seat at Draco’s side and the platinum blond let out his impotent breath and tried to quell the rage-induced headache he could feel coming on._

_Screaming at Gaara would have to wait until this was over, since. While Draco was content to let Slytherin hear Gaara’s bollocking, he was not yet ready to air their dirty laundry in front of the collected British press._

_Draco couldn’t be sure, but he was beginning to think that Gaara had somehow timed his entry to coincide with the arrival of the reporters and Minister Fudge._

_With the ensuing ruckus, Draco’s attention was reluctantly called to proceedings happening at the end of the Hall, but the thought still remained in the back of his mind: Gaara lied to him again._

_He would have to make sure Gaara did not sneak away at the end of the ceremony._

 

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The press gathered in the Great Hall seemed to be even more populous than the night before. Evidently the selection of the Champions promised even greater public interest and wider circulation than the opening ceremony had.

 

From the reporters’ good behaviour, it was apparent that they knew just how profitable these events were for their papers and that getting evicted would be disastrous for their careers. That said… that didn’t stop one of them pushing boundaries and trying to sneak back into the castle.

 

Whatever he had been looking to find, his expulsion from the event served to remind the rest themselves.

 

Proceedings began with less pomp than the previous night, Fudge taking to the stage with less fanfare, only to grandly declare, “Now, I would like to welcome all of you here tonight and remind you that I, like you, am only here to watch tonight’s selection ceremony. The Minister for Magic has no _official_ function for this part of the Tournament, so please pay me no mind and focus your attentions on our hosts, the wonderful staff of Hogwarts.”

 

The self-importance of Fudge’s statement was not lost on anybody, nor was his lingering on the stage for every second he could manage before ceding it to Dumbledore.

 

Every photograph taken while he was still in pride of place was worth the humiliation of the obvious publicity manoeuvre. The pictures would show him in charge, controlling events, and nobody would care it was in appearance only.

 

Dumbledore didn’t bother politely clapping as Cornelius left the stage. The charade was difficult enough to maintain without applauding the man that was causing all of this.

 

Ludo Bagman joined him on the stage, and between them they reiterated the course of the Tournament and the specifics of tonight’s proceedings. The press, those who had not been present the night before, scribbled down this information before Dumbledore finished and kicked the event off officially.

 

Gone were the speeches and levity, what little there was to be found of it last night, and instead Albus checked his fob watch and at the strike of the twenty-fourth hour since the opening ceremony, he stepped back and watched.

 

At that precise moment, the Goblet flared to life with blue flames burning upwards until they burst, and from the flare fell a scorched scrap of parchment. Dumbledore snatched it out of the air with agility belying his years, read the name scrawled upon it, and called out: “The first Champion for Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, Fleur Delacour.”

 

A young witch of some renown, Albus had high hopes for her. If all of the Champions were as strong as she was purported to be, he might finally get a full night’s sleep.

 

The applause rose as the Beauxbatons students and a great many Hogwarts denizens celebrated the first selection. Albus wryly noted that the majority of the Hogwarts celebrants were males, presumably encouraged by Miss Delacour’s beauty and magical lineage. Minerva was already sneering at her lions’ lack of restraint.

 

Fleur thanked those closest to her for their immediate support and approached the head of the Hall. Her path to the back entrance was briefly impeded by the writhing mass of reporters, all fighting for the opportunity to ask her the first question.

 

Fortunately, she was more than capable of dodging her way through them. She wondered if this might be the first test, as she shoulder-checked a reporter who asked her a rude question and barged her way onto the stage.

 

Fudge likewise pushed his way to the front of the stage to stand beside Dumbledore and be featured in the first pictures of the first Champion. The photo opportunity lasted only a moment before Fleur was guided to the back entrance and she disappeared from view.

 

The reporters, having failed to get any of their questions answered, commenced interrogating the adults on stage, particularly Madam Maxine even though she was ignoring the clamour and still politely clapping for her pupil.

 

The Goblet sparked up again, reminding the Hall who or what was truly running the event, and the din died down again to hear the next name. Just like before, a piece of parchment was spat out of the fire and caught by Dumbledore.

 

The newspapers over the next week would dissect this evening, particularly this moment, with such scrutiny that Albus Dumbledore’s fast reflexes in catching the parchment would prompt no fewer than six separate articles discussing his history as a Quidditch player and fan. This was despite the salient fact that he had never actually played Quidditch for a team and had rarely if ever spoken publically about his support for the sport.

 

All in all, they were still not the least substantial articles to be published that November.

 

Dumbledore lifted the scrap into view, his aged eyes requiring close proximity in the dim light, and after a pause to double-check the name before him, called out, “The Champion for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will be… Gaara!”

 

The immediate celebratory applause for the Champion representing the host school was even more rapturous than the first Champion’s had been. The majority of the student body were not surprised by this selection, having seen just how powerful the redhead was during the attack last year.

 

Even Harry, Hermione and Ron weren’t totally shocked, beyond the fact that he had entered in the first place. Ron might have said something along the lines of no Slytherin being brave enough to be a Champion, even one as strong as Gaara, but his voice was lost in the noise.

 

Unlike Madam Maxine’s demure smile when Fleur had been selected, Dumbledore’s face betrayed no happiness at all. Luckily, cameras and eyes were not on the headmaster at that moment, instead they were all on Gaara as he stood. His blank face contrasted quite comically against Draco’s gaping mouth in a number of the photos that made it into the papers the next day.

 

For once in his life, Draco was less concerned about his appearance, in the international press, no less.

 

In fact, at that moment, Draco was not concerned about anything at all. Such a series of shocks to his system had left him so aghast, all of his higher functions were on standby for the time being.

 

Gaara glanced back to check on his friend before proceeding to the waiting room. When Draco recovered his senses, he was going be angrier than Temari the time Kankuro had convinced him to steal the contents of a bank when they were passing through southern Hi no Kuni. Kankuro had told him it was a mission requirement to gather all of the money.

 

When Temari found out, a factor Kankuro had not anticipated, she was livid at the puppeteer and they had to return all of it to the bank before Konoha dispatched shinobi to hunt them down. Gaara had broken Kankuro’s arm and would have gone further had Baki not intervened.

 

He had learned on that early mission never to listen to Kankuro. Kankuro had learned not to try to use his little brother to get rich quick.

 

Temari had learned not to leave her two idiot little brothers alone together.

 

Gaara gave the table a wide birth as he circled around them, trying to avoid the excited back-slaps a few were trying to give him. The noise was bad enough without the overzealous physical contact.

 

Dodging through the contemptible gaggle of reporters was easier for him that it had been for the comparably taller Fleur. Gaara had seldom needed to dart his way through a tight-knit crowd of civilians before; as a matter of fact, he was more used to crowds parting as soon as he walked towards them.

 

As he broke through to the other side, he was thankful he had brought only the smallest quantity of sand; his cumbersome, full gourd would have made that manoeuvre so much more difficult.

 

Gaara was blocked from walking straight to the back entrance by Ludo Bagman, who corralled him to the front of the stage for a couple of pictures of his scowling face next to Dumbledore’s uncharacteristically sombre one.

 

Fudge did not force his way into any pictures this time, instead staying well back until Gaara was released to join Fleur.

 

It was clear that Gaara was eager to escape the stage and that made many onlookers wonder what could have possessed someone so averse to the limelight to enter into a tournament that ensured fame and public scrutiny. Then again, nobody knew much of anything about Gaara, not even his surname, so this latest peculiarity was dismissed as another of his quirks.

 

It was only as Gaara’s bright red head finally disappeared into the trophy room that the concerned compatriots around Draco were able to rouse him from his stupor. They had watched his quiet meltdown impotently, never normally feeling confident enough to interject in the dealings between the unusually close friends.

 

After his gaping mouth snapped shut and he came back to senses, they heard him make a loud groan and watched as he scrunched his eyes shut in dire consternation.

 

Draco was developing a terrible stomach ache. He rubbed his eyes to try and ease some of the intense anger he was feeling. It didn’t work.

 

“Are you alright?” Someone to his left said.

 

He didn’t bother checking who had spoken, nor could he bring himself to respond beyond an aggrieved “I’m fine.” He had absolutely no intention of talking about his feelings, especially not those stemming from Gaara’s latest betrayal.

 

As his stomach pains were joined by a throbbing headache, no doubt exacerbated by the continuing loud celebrations from all around the Hall, Draco wished dearly that there were a way for him to subtly excuse himself. Instead, he would have to endure the entire evening before he could go and lie down.

 

Gaara could hear the overlong applause quieten from inside the Trophy Room. The Delacour girl had been pacing when he entered and had yet to pause. Beyond that, Gaara was happy to ignore her. They _were_ in competition, after all, so he did not wish to become too familiar with her or the Durmstrang contender.

 

Now that he was in closer proximity, Gaara thought he understood a little better why Draco (and almost every other boy in Hogwarts) had been making such a fuss over the blonde-haired girl after she arrived yesterday. She was indeed rather attractive, by most conventional standards of beauty that Gaara understood.

 

With this positive assessment, Gaara began to wonder if this meant he was attracted to her.

 

After a few moments of consideration, outside of the objective aesthetic appreciation, he decided he did not feel anything about her at all. Certainly nothing approaching either of the vague (and vastly divergent) descriptions of attraction that his siblings had furnished him with when the subject had come up.

 

Having someone like Temari around would have been very helpful in these circumstances. Kankuro would have just teased him or ogled Miss Delacour until she was forced to leave the room.

 

The door slammed open at the top of the stairs and down came Viktor Krum, who offered only nods to his fellow Champions. Considering how confident and sociable the pair of older students had seemed before then, Gaara assumed this current stand-off was the result of nerves or competitiveness.

 

While Gaara was still dwelling on the behaviour of his fellow Champions without looking at either of them, Fleur had swerved out of her pacing and marched over to Krum to properly introduce herself.

 

They exchanged shallow pleasantries and together approached Gaara. It was only after they stood all together that the age (and height) difference became entirely apparent.

 

“I did not think we would be meeting again so soon.” Krum said by way of a greeting.

 

“We have not been properly introduced. I am Fleur Delacour. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” She said in even more heavily accented English than Krum’s. She offered her hand to Gaara and he looked at it. It was in the same position as Narcissa’s was, so he was supposed to kiss the knuckle for some reason.

 

Expert at this manoeuvre now, Gaara waited until the hand was retracted and then nodded his greeting. “Gaara.”

 

“You were quite the sensation this summer. We heard all about you in France.” She spoke with a gentle smile that Gaara assumed was supposed to be reassuring or encouraging.

 

“Yes, despite your age, I believe Hogwarts has selected a worthy Champion.” Krum added.

 

Gaara hoped this friendliness did not last too much longer. He was unaccustomed to competition, particularly those with friendly rivalries. Truth be told, right now, he would be more comfortable if somebody would threaten to kill him.

 

Or at least do something so he could threaten to kill them.

 

The Champions heard a loud but muffled shout from the Hall and then more commotion.

 

“I wonder what we are missing.” Fleur said, distracted from Gaara’s rudeness.

 

“Probably your Minister again trying to draw attention to himself.” Krum said with a wry smile.

 

“He is not my Minister. This is not my country.” Gaara said irritably.

 

“I have heard this but not where you come from.” Krum continued.

 

“Our newspapers made many guesses but I do not know this either.” Fleur agreed.

 

The much taller pair loomed over Gaara expectantly but it was thanks to the door opening again that Gaara did not have to resort to even less polite methods to avoid answering the familiar questions.

 

Down the stairs came Harry Potter, looking almost as pale as Gaara, and decidedly queasier. Fleur was quick to ask what message Harry had been sent to deliver, but Gaara knew Harry well enough by now to see how out of sorts he looked.

 

Fleur asked the question again and then Viktor gave it a try, both becoming snappish when the fifteen year-old failed to respond. Before Gaara could interrupt the interrogation to ascertain why Harry was really there, if only to allay the concern already mounting within him, a group of adults barged in to the trophy room in a less than dignified manner.

 

The ruckus the grown men and women caused as they stormed in made Gaara wonder whether the true curse of the Jinchūriki was not the demon inside of them, or the persecution resulting, but the inevitable drama that followed them, to different worlds, no less. Even something as convoluted as a deadly tournament for schoolchildren had somehow been subverted and become more troublesome.

 

The specifics of this subversion weren’t clear to Gaara or the two older Champions with him. There was perhaps an obvious conclusion to be drawn but it seemed so ludicrous, that an event with three in the title could have a fourth participant…

 

Fudge was visibly furious as he marched erratically around the room, ranting about how things had _already_ gone awry.

 

Even as he glared at Harry and circled around him, he maintained a respectable distance from the apparent cause of his fury. This was not in appreciation of Harry being but a boy or most likely blameless in whatever had happened, it was because Fudge did not want to get any closer to Gaara than he was already, and Gaara happened to be stood right next to Harry.

 

“How did you do it!? That’s what I want to know. And how did he get it past your professors, Dumbledore!?” Fudge ranted. “That is, if he wasn’t helped by those so-called guards.”

 

“We both know that wasn’t the case, Cornelius. And I’m afraid Mr Potter would not know where to begin to confound an artefact as ancient and powerful as the Goblet.” Dumbledore reasoned calmly.

 

Harry did not appreciate being called ignorant by his headmaster, but the last thing he wanted to do now was draw attention to himself by defending his intellect. Especially because his ignorance was apparently his best defence against the accusations being levelled at him.

 

“Surely we cannot be expected to take you at you word, Headmaster Dumblydore?” Madam Maxine argued, her face pulled in such a way as to express her composed displeasure.

 

“Agreed. This will benefit only your school. You are the only one with motive to do this.” Karakoff added.

 

Gaara had cottoned on to what had happened and what deeply concerned. He looked to Dumbledore for answers, searching for some sign of deceit on his wrinkled face. Had Dumbledore made another deal with Potter? Then again, why would he? The whole purpose of entering Gaara had supposedly been to prevent other students from entering and getting hurt, as Potter likely would if he was allowed in.

 

“We do not yet know precisely what has been done, but Headmaster Karakoff does raise an important point. Who might have motive to force Mr Potter into the Tournament?” Dumbledore said.

 

“Force?”

 

Eyes that had been locked on each other, the adult population of the room and the other Champions, all turned to look at Gaara.

 

“What?” Fudge asked.

 

“He said forced. Potter could just quit.” Gaara said. Sure, it was concerning that somebody had tried to sabotage the Tournament but no actual harm had been done yet.

 

“Yes, I want to quit.” Harry piped up, still looking ashen but with a glimpse of hope.

 

“It is a magically binding contract. Mr Potter’s name has been entered into the Triwizard Tournament and he is magically bound to participate.” Crouch said.

 

“This is ridiculous.” Fudge declared, and most of the room agreed.

 

“I didn’t enter!” Harry asserted but few of the adults seemed to believe him.

 

“Regardless, I’m afraid Bartemius is correct. The Goblet has accepted Harry’s name so it must believe it is he who entered, regardless of the true circumstances of that entry.” Dumbledore said gravely. “I fully believe that Mr Potter did not have any part in entering his name into the Goblet, but the magic of the Goblet is powerful and not to be trifled with. That someone else has already manipulated it makes this situation all the more perilous. Trying to break the contract would be very dangerous, and for none more than Mr Potter.”

 

“Disqualify him, then!” Karakoff demanded.

 

Gaara did not like the Dumrstrang headmaster, but he had to admit he liked the idea.

 

“Not on your life! Disqualifying him would shame him in our society for life. All over the world!” McGongall said. Harry had not even realised she was in here. The wall of adults in front of him was so densely packed together, deciding his future (or lack thereof) that he did not know who else was in the Trophy Room.

 

“Better shamed than dead, surely.” Maxine said and Harry again found himself in agreement with the people calling him a liar.

 

“And make a mockery of this Tournament?” Fudge said.

 

“More of a mockery than it is already?” Karakoff asked.

 

The bickering continued without any further input from Harry or from Gaara, and Fleur and Viktor continued to watch the drama unfold.

 

The adults all shouted and argued away, and they all huddled together to face one another, so that left Harry and Gaara alone.

 

“Sirius is going to be really upset with us.” Harry whispered, sounding miserable.

 

Gaara nodded, imagining the tantrum Sirius would throw. Bad enough Gaara had lied to him, now Potter was wrapped up in it too.

 

“Gaara, you have to believe me. I didn’t put my name in.” Harry turned to Gaara, desperate to convince someone of his total innocence.

 

“I did not think you had.” Gaara said simply, only glancing at Harry before continuing to concentrate on the ongoing debate.

 

“What? Really?”

 

Gaara did not turn to see Harry’s appreciation, nor did he answer. Harry was many (annoying things) but he did not seek attention enough to have entered the Tournament.

 

“He believes very easily.” Fleur all but whispered to Viktor beside her.

 

“He is young.” Viktor said. “And they might be working together.”

 

“I did not get that impression.”

 

Harry glanced over at older pair and they stopped talking. This tournament, their opportunity for fame and fortune beyond their wildest dreams, was not turning out to be everything they were promised.

 

After a few more minutes of listening in to the arguments of the adults, eventually the huddle broke and the Champions were all drawn together and told the verdict.

 

“Okay, so it’s been decided,” Ludo Bagman began, “that Mr Potter, you will compete in the Tournament as a second Champion for Hogwarts.”

 

Crouch added, “The Goblet’s decision will not be ignored.”

 

“This is over our strong objections.” Maxine interjected.

 

“Yes, we heard you the first time.” Snape muttered loudly enough for the whole room to hear.

 

His snark did not go unnoticed, but nobody wanted to dignify it with a response.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

Hermione had spent the last five minutes convincing Ron not to try storming the Trophy Room to rescue Harry. Truth be told, she wanted to go down and there and find out what was going on just as much as he did, but she (unlike Ron) recognised the futility of rushing the stage when there were dozens of reporters and many Aurors between them and that door.

 

People had tried pressing Ron and her for answers, about why Harry had cheated the Goblet, and when he entered since nobody saw. When they received only the same ‘he didn’t’, they went back to baseless speculation.

 

It became immediately apparent, from what they could overhear in the Hall, that everyone seemed to believe Harry was the cheat and that Gaara was the true Champion. I was a remarkable change from the hostility and suspicion Gaara had been regarded with up until the end of last year.

 

Of course, Harry’s allies tried arguing his cause, but none knew what was happening, they could not convince anyone of Harry’s innocence.

 

As one would expect, the Slytherins were not helping. They were quick to boast their enigmatic housemate’s virtues and slander Harry with all kinds of lies. A number of snakes claimed to have witnessed him confound the Goblet or any number of other underhanded things to gain entrance into the Tournament.

 

Usually Draco’s would have been the loudest voice among them, deriding Potter while elevating Gaara. Win win.

 

Except, right now, the last thing Gaara wanted to be doing was celebrating Gaara and his entrance into the Tournament. He had half a mind to side with the Gryffindors, if he was being perfectly honest.

 

As he bit his tongue, figuratively speaking, he focussed on not throwing up the dinner he had managed to eat before Gaara’s dramatic entrance earlier. From stomach ache to nausea… all he needed now was to be photographed throwing up by the international press and this truly would be… actually, his mother and father would have to be there to witness it in person. That would be the worst evening.

 

After what might have been ten minutes, the mob all directed their attention to the front of the Hall again, directing Draco’s gaze there too. The door was opening and out poured the adults that had followed Potter into the trophy room. Dumbledore, McGonagall, Professor Snape, Fudge, Ludo Bagman, Crouch, two Ministry flunkies Draco did not know the names of (and he knew all of the important movers in the Ministry).

 

Then followed the Champions, all four of them. Viktor Krum stepped out to applause and basked in it for a moment before he moved aside so Fleur Delacour could receive the same adulation. The press were already pushing and shoving to reach the front and demand answers. Sadly, for Fudge, the majority of those questions regarded the irregularity that occurred earlier.

 

Then, a few beats after the elder two Champions emerged, out stepped Gaara and Harry. They stayed close together, quashing some of the predictions of a brutal Hogwarts rivalry, but that was where any sign of camaraderie ended.

 

Fudge stepped up to the podium again but Crouch approached from behind and said something inaudible to him. Fudge reluctantly stepped away from the microphone and let the men who were actually supposed to be running the event take over the announcement.

 

Whether from this rejection or from the situation itself, Fudge looked about as angry as anybody since the time the Weasley twins in their second year found out when Snape’s birthday was and organised a huge party for him the Great Hall, including balloons and cakes that bore his face that appeared on all the tables with their meals. He had disliked them from the moment they met but he hated them after that day.

 

Having everyone write insulting, anonymous birthday messages in dozens of cards that kept arriving all through the day had been the final nail.

 

If the look on the twins faces now were any kind of indicator, Fudge might be receiving his own cards in the near future.

 

Contrary to assumption, Crouch did not seem at all happy to have taken Fudge’s place at that moment. There had been a time in his life he would have relished stealing the stage from Cornelius but now it seemed like a poisoned apple.

 

“Thank you for being patient. The Triwizard Tournament is an ancient contest… but this does not mean it cannot and does not change with time. The Golbet of Fire, which has been used to select the Triwizard Champions since the first Tournament over seven-hundred years ago, has seen fit to select a fourth Champion for the first time and so we have decided to innovate and make changes to this historic contest.

 

“Both Harry Potter and Gaara,” Crouch seemed to stumble over the lack of a surname, “will represent Hogwarts separately. They will be competing against each other, as they will compete against the venerable Champions selected from our sister schools.

 

And so, without further ado, I am proud to introduce the _four_ Champions for the 1995 Triwizard Tournament: Viktor Krum of the Durmstrang Institute,” Cheers rose from a number of places, “Fleur Delacour of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic,” the French contingent and half of the pubescent boys in the hall cheered, “And representing our very own Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, we have Gaara and Harry Potter!”

 

The cheers were noticeably louder for the ‘native’ Champions, who entirely lacked the pride and showmanship of the elder Champions, who had stepped forwards and presented themselves to their adoring public with gusto. Gaara didn’t so much as flinch when his name was yelled out and Harry looked about ready to run back into the trophy room if the Ministry workers and professors cleared the way.

 

That might have been why Professors Moody and Snape stood in front of the door. McGonagall noticed this placement and wondered whether she should applaud their supporting Harry or chastise them for tormenting the poor boy. In any case, she would have to look into revising her syllabus in the near future to include more presentations.

 

If a young Gryffindor like Harry was cowed by something like this, she needed to encourage her lions to appear in front of crowds and stand tall.

 

Although, he might also be cowed by the looming spectre of death, but there wasn’t much she could reasonably do to prepare her precious students for that. She wouldn’t want to, anyhow.

 

Realising she was just trying to distract herself from the worrisome reality in front of her, she grit her teeth and refocused her attention on the continuing speech. Crouch had continued speaking to reiterate the dates of the tasks and the rule of the Tournament, including that professors (including her) may intervene or aid the Champions in preparing for their tasks beyond the scope of their duties in teaching their subjects as normal.

 

She would definitely be making a number of impromptu revisions to her lesson plans over the coming months, then.

 

She had vowed, the moment Harry’s name was announced, that she would do everything she could to help the boy. That was more than could be said about their Minister for Magic, who had so far only insisted on Gaara and Harry splitting their allotted guest tickets between them. Ridiculous man.

 

Minerva had overridden the bumbling idiot and declared that the boys could share their family tickets, seeing as they technically shared the same guardian, but that they would be allowed to have their friends come and watch them. She did not leave room for argument, and she would continue to exercise what little influence she could muster as long as this farce continued, even if it only amounted to token gestured like this.

 

Fudge fumed at the back of the stage.

 

He was furious beyond words by this point. Where was the respect he was owed! He was the Minister for Magic, for Merlin’s sake!

 

When he said that Potter malcontent should be ousted, they should have leapt at his words. Instead, they will have to reorganise everything. They only just managed to get the first task ready in time using Bagman’s and Barty’s underwhelming plans. Now they would have to find _another_ dragon on short notice!

 

Of all the nights for Henrick to leave him alone… Whatever emergency he was working on at the Ministry, Fudge would be hearing all about it, secrecy or not.

 

A right ruddy disaster, this whole mess.

 

“And ten days before the first task, all of the Champions and everyone else will be told the nature of the first Task.” Bagman continued, having taken over from Crouch a couple of minutes ago.

 

That was another concession he had made to Dumbledore. The old meddler had demanded – demanded! – that the participants be told ahead of time what they would be facing. As if this tournament weren’t changing enough already.

 

“Now, I’m sure the men and women of the press here will have a few questions for our Champions, so I think it’s only fair we give them a chance. Remember, please, that in order to maintain the Champions’ education over the course of this year, as well as maintaining the integrity of the Tournament, the press will not be allowed to contact, directly or indirectly, any of the Champions. You may only talk to them during official events, and they may only contact you at these times too.” Bagman continued smiling, as if the dire danger and drama of this evening had role off of him like water on a duck’s back.

 

Ludo rounded on the Champions and beckoned them to the front of the stage. Viktor and Fleur stepped forwards with practiced ease, oozing confidence, like they had been born to this kind of prominence. Gaara hesitated a moment, eyeing the press gathered in front of the stage and considering whether he would indeed be breaking his deal with Dumbledore if he disappeared.

 

If he didn’t already know the answer to that question, he wouldn’t have appeared on the stage in the first place.

 

Harry was the last to step forward, and if he had a constitution any weaker than he had, he looked like he might have fainted. He was supposed to be amongst the teeming crowd below, watching the suicidal Champions make fools out of themselves. Instead, here he was…

 

Seeing as they were still children, Bagman was more than happy to guide the press interrogation rather than leave the boys and girl to fend for themselves. The vultures were not circling overhead, they had already landed and were about to dig in. He pointed to the first reporter he saw and wished he was as familiar with the various faces as some of his media-savvy colleagues.

 

“The Goblet of Fire has never selected a fourth Champion in the history of the Triwizard Tournament, is it believed that it was charmed? And, will there be an official inquiry into any malfunction or interference with the Goblet of Fire.”

 

Crouch jumped in before any of the teenagers did anything stupid like trying to answer that one themselves. “I must remind everyone gathered here tonight that this press conference regards only the Champions. Any questions about the administration of the Tournament or other external matters may be directed to the Ministry of Magic later on. We will be happy to answers any questions like that at the next Ministry press briefing.”

 

The reporter did not look satisfied and already had his hand back in the air. No one present expected him to be graced with another chance to ask a question after having jumped right into the heaviest subject right off the bat. Ludo pointed to the next journalist.

 

“Mr Potter, when did you enter into the Tournament?” Clearly this one was being more circumspect about asking the same question.

 

Harry, perpetual deer in the headlights, took his time after an audible gulp, “Erm, I didn’t, really…” When more was expected of him, he added, “I’m not really sure what happened.”

 

Next came, “My question is for Viktor Krum. Are you at all concerned that the two Hogwarts Champions may collude and gain an unfair advantage over you and Miss Delacour?”

 

Viktor took a sidelong glance at Harry and Gaara and smiled, “I am not concerned. I believe they are both honourable and would not behave so honestly. And besides that, they are both young and inexperienced. I do not fear them, together or apart.”

 

That eased some of the tension in the Great Hall, but the gathered reporters did not take that as an excuse to cease their assault.

 

“Gaara, is the occurrence of an additional Champion in any way related to yours and Harry Potter’s shared guardian, Sirius Black, and known critic of the Ministry of Magic?”

 

All eyes turned to Gaara but his expression did not change. “No.” He answered calmly and softly.

 

Everybody waited a second for more to come but when it became apparent Gaara was done, the next question was asked, again of Gaara.

 

“After you came to the public’s attention over the summer due to your actions during the dementor attack on Hogwarts and then again with the riot at the Quidditch World Cup, neither you nor the Ministry have disclosed any information regarding your background to the press, including your full name, which is not even included in the registry here at Hogwarts.”

 

“Is there a question somewhere in there?” Ludo interjected.

 

“What secrets are the Ministry helping you to hide? And is it possible that you are in fact the additional Champion, recognised by the Goblet as outside of Hogwarts?”

 

“None, and no.” Gaara again said. He had none of the showmanship or flare that Viktor had, nor the open vulnerability that Harry displayed.

 

The press conference went on and on, with almost every journalist present getting at least one chance to ask a question of the Champions. After it became obvious that Gaara would not be giving any full or insightful answers, the majority of the questions bypassed him for Harry or the other two Champion, who were all too happy to answer.

 

When the questions about the peculiarity of Harry’s selection finally dried up, when it became clear that Harry could offer no answers because he himself either didn’t know or wasn’t willing to admit knowing anything, the press moved on to some more palatable questions about the Champions themselves and their feelings on the impending Tournament.

 

One asked how each felt about being famous. Fleur gave an inspirational speech about acting with dignity and grace, to make a fitting example for the people of Britain and her home. Viktor chuckled and said he already knew a little about being famous, so this would not affect him. Harry struggled not to stare at his feet and only managed to say that he hoped the Tournament would go fast.

 

Gaara didn’t answer, he just continued to stare into space.

 

A few people in the hall laughed at Gaara’s antics. No matter if he was staring down Snape or the world’s press, the small redhead never changed.

 

Gaara, who had long since perfected the art avoiding the awkwardness of staring at people by finding a blank space on which to let his gaze linger, was purposefully avoiding looking at anybody right now. He had made the mistake of looking around the Great Hall earlier in the press conference and was not ready to make the same mistake again.

 

At the Gryffindor table, he had found the Twins waving and doing everything in their power to get Harry’s attention on them, at which point they gave exaggerated thumbs-ups and mimed congratulations to him. Gaara had not looked to Harry at that moment, but he imagined Harry was anything but encouraged by the behaviour.

 

The two thirds of the Golden Trio sat at the table were visibly worried. It was painful to look at the pair as they anguished over Harry’s absence, worse when Granger made eye contact with Gaara and she made a face at him as if she were trying to signal something. Considering Gaara had difficulty deciphering a number of standard, everyday facial expressions, the hope that he would be able to work out this complex facial message was entirely forlorn.

 

Turning away, he ended up looking for and then at someone else. Luna was not in conversation with any of her housemates, she was sitting apart from them as those closest to her had turned to chat with people on their other sides. In spite of this continual isolation, Luna smiled and waved excitedly at him when he glanced at her.

 

Her total obliviousness to the situation at hand and intense familiarity with him sent him looking away again.

 

And then he mistakenly let his eyes wander to familiar territory and had to quickly avert his gaze after an instant of Draco’s most piercing glare yet. After all he had put his friend through in the last couple of weeks and months, Gaara wondered if Draco would ever be able to forgive him.

 

A darker part of Gaara’s mind, deeper than even Shukaku’s voice, questioned whether Gaara should expect Draco to keep forgiving him. Monsters cannot change their behaviour any more than the sky can stop being blue. Clouds can cover it, the setting or rising sun can tint it, but it always reverts eventually to its true colours.

 

Rasa has said something to that affect once in Gaara’s life when he had, in his childhood naiveté, asked if he could ever stop hurting the people around him.

 

It was quite possibly the last time Rasa has spoken to him outside of issuing mission directives, over a year before the man’s timely death.

 

So, with all of this flying around in his head like so much sand, Gaara’s focus was not on the press asking him questions or Harry, who was trying in vain to get Gaara to answer them.

 

The questions, a quarter of which were unanswered, went on longer than anyone really thought necessary. The Hogwarts staff were the ones to break up the conference, to the relief of many. 

 

Enough had been disclosed that night to write full biographies of Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour. In fact, full sections of those biographies would appear in many papers the next day. Voldemort might have resurrected that night and he would have been pushed to the bottom of page eight, such was the ubiquitous coverage of the Triwizard Tournament in magical Europe.

 

While not nearly enough to counterbalance the horror of the evening, there was one small upside to Harry’s (forced) involvement. Always one to shy away from public attention, no matter how hard it sought him out, Harry had been made aware of a number of inaccuracies in his personal history reported in at least four books (that Hermione had read).

 

He was trained personally by Nicholas Flamel for the first ten years of his life. He was hidden in Australia with a powerful society of wizards and witches, who used dark rituals to make him more powerful than anybody his age (Hermione had actually laughed aloud as she recounted that one). His accidental magic had been so potent and destructive that he levelled a small village in Cornwall and Dumbledore had to cover it up.

 

Ron had found these so funny, he actually went and read two of the more outlandish accounts of Harry’s life. Those two books were still being passed around the Weasley clan, all of whom quite enjoyed their fantastical tales – they were exceedingly well written, even if they had no connection to reality. Hermione had postulated that at least one of them had been written by Gilderoy Lockhart under a penname. The only Weasley to refuse the books had been Molly, who didn’t like stories without a whirlwind romance.

 

Ginny, it turned out, already had creased copies of both under her bed, though she swore she hadn’t so much as opened them since meeting Harry two years ago.

 

The press interview uncovered a number of facts about Harry’s upbringing (missing out some of the more discomfiting details of the Dursley’s ‘care’ of him) that would serve to dispel many of the myths that had sprung up in his absence from the magical world those ten years.

 

The reporters, despite having each filled notebooks, had to be shepherded out of the Great Hall in the same manner as last night, all still trying and failing to get their last question answered. The students, who had been excited to begin with, were almost all flagging by the end. 

 

Fudge, who was still pretending to be there only as a spectator, hurried after the wall of reporters to give a final ‘informal’ press conference outside the castle. The majority of his staff and attendants. Including Barty Crouch and Ludo Bagan, trailed after him, and suddenly the bustle that had pervaded the hall for the past couple of hours fell silent.

 

Dumbledore took centre stage one last time that evening.

 

“And with that, I believe we can call it a night. The events of this evening will surely be cause for much discussion, but please remember that breakfast will not wait and those who   sto [k’pojk’poj’poj’pojk’pojk

sleep after their alarms may have to go hungry until lunch.” This might have seemed like an attempt to lighten the lethargic mood but for the sombre note in the old man’s voice marking it as a sincere piece of advice.

 

“Now, please join me in another round of applause for our gathered Triwizard Champions as they exit the hall.” He said, starting a round of applause that belied everyone’s eagerness to go to bed, or at least retire to their dormitories to discuss the evening’s events.

 

Not needing any further prompting, happy to be leaving at last, Harry and Gaara led the way for Viktor and Fleur down the centre aisle. Both boys walked fast and avoiding looking to either side at the clapping and cheering crowds while Fleur and Viktor hung back and waved to their adoring public.

 

They exited the Great Hall and the professor waited a minute or two before trying to organise a civilised departure from the hall for all of the collected students. It was like herding cranky felines.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

Sirius sat with his mouth agape and his eye vacant as Remus proceeded to clear up the bear his friend had absently spilled five minutes before. Kreacher had not appeared so Remus felt compelled to try and clean a little. It was better than sitting around and listening to more of the radio’s commentary.

 

…both of them…

 

Both of them had entered the Triwizard Tournament and somehow, contrary to luck, logic, and the ancient laws of the Tournament itself, both of the boys had been chosen to represent Hogwarts.

 

Sirius could not process it. Both of them had gone behind his back. He wasn’t a stuffed shirt. He was the fun one, the one they were supposed to come to with girl problems, or advice on pranking, or whatever Gaara might want to come to him for…

 

Instead, they had both not only elected to enter into the Tournament, they had lied to him about it. He just couldn’t understand it. And now they were in a terrible danger from which Sirius could not help them.

 

Despite circumstances, it annoyed Remus that Sirius only seemed to recover from his shock after the mess had been cleaned up, but he supposed now was not the time to lambast the layabout. Plus, telling him off had never stopped him from shirking chores before now.

 

Sirius exhaled heavily and sat back in his chair, glaring at his empty bottle and considering calling on Kreacher to bring him another. He wasn’t sure whether getting drunk right now would help or hurt.

 

“I’m sure there’s more to it than we know.” Remus said, sitting back down.

 

“What’s there to know? They entered, they didn’t tell me. In fact, they told me they _weren’t_ going to enter.”

 

“I’m sure they’ll have some sort of reason for that. Can you imagine Gaara just deciding to get rich and famous from performing in a Tournament? And Harry, do you think for a second that he wants more attention?”

 

“Then why-”

 

“I don’t know. I doubt anybody does. You know what it’s like being a teenager. You’re practically still one yourself.”

 

Sirius smirked in spite on himself.

 

“Do you seriously think we wouldn’t have done something as bad if not worse if the same opportunities presented themselves when we were at Hogwarts. You and James would have challenged each other to duels for the right to take part in the Triwizard Tournament. As a matter of fact, I recall James actually wishing he had the chance to participate in the Tournament when Lily brought it up in a conversation about the silly things wizards do to each other.”

 

“I don’t remember that.”

 

“Really? You said James wouldn’t make it past the first round and then he slapped you around the back of the head and you fell out of the boat.”

 

“We were in a boat?”

 

“You really don’t remember any of this? You splashed around until you realised you were only in two feet of water, and then you pretended to be drowning as loudly as you could, screaming that James Potter had murdered the eldest son of the House of Black and declared a blood feud. Cost us 20 house points, too.”

 

“I can’t believe I don’t remember that.”

 

“Well, to be fair, you declared blood feuds with James quite regularly that year. You only stopped because Regulus overheard you that one time, mistook you for serious and tried cursing James.”

 

“Now _that_ I remember.” Sirius smirked, sadder now, remembering Regulus.

 

“What I’m getting at is: teenagers do dumb things. All the time. I’d thought for a long time that it was just us, that we were worse than everyone else, but having taught at Hogwarts, I can say for sure that we were just staying true to form.”

 

“No, we were _exceptional_.” Sirius defended.

 

Remus was not going to debate this. “And teenagers also like to keep secrets. Especially about the dumb stuff they get up to. Gaara and Harry are far from normal, I don’t think anybody can deny that, but in this, they are pretty typical.”

 

“You know, their stepmother saying that they’re abnormal will only hurt their self-esteem.”

 

“I’m not their stepmother.” Remus said, wondering where this was going.

 

“Well, _I’m_ certainly not the mother. I’m the step _father_.” Sirius said, aghast.

 

“Sirius, we’re not together.” Remus said, having heard this or similar jokes before.

 

Sirius pretended to tear up. “Why won’t you love me?!”

 

“Oh, for goodness sake. This is why you’re a teenager.” Remus said, rubbing his eyelids.

 

Sirius chuckled to himself briefly before the mirth dried up and they were back to listening to the radio in silence. The commentary was a little erratic as the presenter scrambled to say something in the wake of the fourth Champion’s announcement and the disappearance of anybody in power to explain it.

 

The number of times the radio host asked rhetorical questions about the situation or when the Minister, the Headmaster or one of the Champions would come back out from the Trophy Room made both the inhabitants of Grimmauld Place wonder if they couldn’t find any more competent presenters.

 

And then everyone re-emerged and the reporting could continue properly.

 

The moment that it was announced that both Harry and Gaara would be allowed to compete against one another and the other two Champions was the moment Sirius lost hope that they would be able to avoid this mess entirely.

 

Then came the interview and Harry’s claims of innocence. Sirius was quick to believe in his godson, but that made his forced participation all the worse. It also raised the question of why on God’s Earth Gaara had entered, since Gaara was not forthcoming with any explanation during the interview.

 

Sirius wanted to storm the Ministry of Magic that evening, after he had finished his second beer, and demand they release at least Harry from the Tournament, if not both of the boys.

 

Remus, ever the voice of reason, had tried to avoid the probable arrest by explaining that there was little hope that the Minister would back down now that they had endorsed both boys competing. Certainly, it would be best to wait until tomorrow when tempers had cooled and the alcohol, which would most definitely be increasing before then, had left Sirius’ system.

 

“It was supposed to be a simple year. No mass murderer after them, no dementors. Maybe watch the Tournament, but nothing dangerous!” Sirius lamented.

 

“There’s no such thing as a boring year at Hogwarts, especially for Harry. And Merlin only knows what Gaara’s been through in the years before now. We’ve only seen and heard the tip of the iceberg. You know that, right?”

 

“Of course I know that, but that makes it even more important that they get at least one year without nearly being killed, Moony!”

 

“I’m not exactly on Death’s side here, but what I’m saying is that it’s happening whether we like it or not.”

 

Sirius paused, “…so we need to figure out a way to help them…”

 

“Exactly. Gaara is incredibly strong but he will need as much help as he can get in terms of magic. And while Harry is powerful, he’s also young. They will both need our guidance. Your guidance. With any luck, they’ll help each other out a bit too.”

 

Sirius snorted, taking a swig of his third beer, “Fat chance!”

 

“Well, hopefully at least Gaara won’t go out of his way to take Harry out of the running.”

 

“It’ll depend on his mood or how he’s feeling about Harry that day, I expect.”

 

“You’re not wrong there.”

 

Sirius turned off the radio when the press conference was over and Fudge was trying to steal the limelight again. Neither of the men wanted to hear his self-aggrandisement this evening. In the unlikely event that he said anything of worth, they would catch it in tomorrow’s paper.

 

No doubt there would be no shortage of coverage, come the morning.

 

“This will make the adoption harder, won’t it?” Sirius asked, wondering if he could find a cigarette somewhere in the house. He hadn’t smoked since before his arrest, since before Lily announced her pregnancy, as a matter of fact, but tonight he could really do with a fag.

 

“I don’t know.” Remus said. “If Fudge doesn’t hear about it, it should be fine, I think. If you’d waited until after tonight, it probably would have been harder, with their increased notoriety, but nobody can accuse you of chasing fame.”

 

“Fame chased me. I’ve got the scars to prove it.”

 

“As do the boys.”

 

“You’re right there.”

 

“The child services department’s been good so far, kept everything confidential. I can’t think why they would change that now.”

 

“I hope you’re right. Regardless of whether they’re legally mine or not, I’ll be having words with both of them.”

 

“‘Having words’, Sirius?” Remus asked, choking on a laugh.

 

“I thought that was the right way to say it. The adult way of saying I’m gonna give them a right bollocking.”

 

“Did you even start that parenting book I got you?”

 

“I’m still stuck picking out baby names. I mean, sure, Bandit and Prongslet are good, but I need middle names for them.”

 

“I think they’re rather attached to the names they’ve got.”

 

“You can never have too many names. I’ve got six. I can’t remember two of them and I don’t like another one of them but I’ve got them if I ever needed them.”

 

“The only reason you don’t like the name Canopus is because it ruins your S.O.B. joke. And last time you complained about names, you said you only had five.”

 

“Ah, that time I’d honestly forgotten one of them.”

 

“So what are these two other names?”

 

“I shan’t say.”

 

“You shan’t?”

 

“Indeed. Some things are between me and my hairdresser.”

 

Remus saw that Sirius, whose tolerance for alcohol was never as legendary as the man claimed, was descending into silliness. Maybe that was a good thing; a chance for him to blow off some steam before whatever was to happen tomorrow.

 

With that in mind, Remus climbed to his feet and poured himself a small sherry. As long as he wasn’t as hungover as Sirius in the morning, everything would be fine.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

Draco sat alone in their room, exhausted but a long way from sleeping.

 

Gaara, total coward that he was, had disappeared by the time the rest of the student body had been let out of the Great Hall. Where Krum and Delacour had stood their ground and even welcomed the wave of congratulations from the hundreds of teenagers rushing towards them, Gaara was nowhere to be seen and Potter had been seen fleeing up the stairs to his dormitory.

 

Draco was in no mood to be caught in the midst of the crowd for any longer than he absolutely needed to be, so he headed straight to the Dungeons, knowing that Gaara wouldn’t be waiting for him there. Gaara liked to hide in times like these.

 

Bloody coward.

 

Draco’s dark mood was only worsened by the proxy-congratulations he was given to pass along to his friend. Every Slytherin he passed suddenly seemed thrilled that Gaara was in their House, and wanted him to pass along messages for them. Whether this was because Gaara was nowhere to be seen or because he still intimidated most of Hogwarts would remain to be seen.

 

There were only a few other Slytherins who were heading straight to the Dungeons, and most of the others were tired firsties in need of sleep. Draco beat them all there and then he rushed to his room, definitely _not_ hoping to find Gaara in the room. He knew there was no hope of that.

 

He sighed when he opened the door on his dark room and then slammed it shut behind him and settled on his bed. His mind was swimming, his anger growing, and he didn’t know what to do with it. He wished he could distract himself with a book or some homework, but three separate and aborted attempts to read his book, and one attempt at going to sleep, told him there was no escape to be found from this feeling tonight.

 

The only thing that might save him would be letting it all out, but the only target for such a tirade was gone.

 

He did end up cursing the wall a few times, which made him feel marginally better. His father was right about one thing, curses did make you feel better at times like these. The darker the better.

 

He only stopped casting because a deep crack had formed in the wall and he did not want to flood the dorms with the Black Lake.

 

After the blasting had ceased, his room was silent for a while. What little noise might have been caused outside of his room was hushed by the obvious signs of rage within. The first years must have been skittering about in terror at the sounds of battle.

 

The reverie ended when the bulk of the Slytherin finally returned to the House and the partying could begin. Hogwarts (true) Champions was from their House, so the glory would be theirs.

 

Despite being just after midnight, music began to play and sounds of dancing and drinking drifted even into the reaches of Draco’s room from the Common Room. One person, whose identity would remain unknown, tried to call on Draco (and possibly Gaara) but, after knocking and getting no response, the individual tried to open the door, to which Draco set an overpowered charm to slam it back shut and seal it.

 

The intruder had not made it even one step into the room but the force sent him flying back and bouncing off of the far wall.

 

Nobody was entirely sure what was going on with Draco, or Gaara and Draco, but they knew better than to ask by now and left them both alone for the night.

 

Similar to Sirius’ complaints elsewhere, Draco bemoaned that Gaara had lied to him. Betrayed him.

 

Again.

 

But why? Gaara pulled stunts all the time, even if this was more serious than his usual nonsense, so why would he lie and say he wouldn’t enter. Potter claimed not to enter and even if he was telling the truth, Draco knew Gaara had no such excuse.

 

During the ceremonies earlier, he had refused to make eye contact with Draco even once. He was ashamed, as he should be.

 

So why?

 

Clearly Gaara was still keeping secrets from him, after everything. After everything they had been through. Draco’s continuing nightmares about the full moon were testament to that fact.

 

But what more could Gaara be hiding from him. What could the assassin from another world have left to hide from him?

 

Remembering that night last month, Draco almost didn’t want to know. But he did. He _had_ to know.

 

Draco’s Dreamwalker Potion project would continue. No more secrets. No more lies.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

Albus had been hoping to get a full night’s sleep tonight. He hadn’t hoped for a good night’s rest, he hadn’t had one of those in many years, but with Gaara entered into the Tournament and the inevitable chaos and destruction at least limited, he might have been able to get a few hours. Instead, this…

 

Instead of his bed, he was sat in his office again, facing down almost every member of his staff and Henrick Morbidus.

 

Morbidus had shown up shortly after this meeting was called. He gave no indication of where he had been that evening that was so important he had not been present for the Minister’s latest humiliation, nor did he care to mention what Fudge had said to him to get him there so promptly. Henrick had simply appeared and requested to sit in on the meeting and confer with the professors about what they knew of matters.

 

Apparently, there would be some sort of investigation into the selection of two Champions from Hogwarts. Albus could feel his skin further wrinkling with joy.

 

The professors, whose contempt for the Tournament that had been forced upon them, were up in arms at this betrayal. It was bad enough that one child had to be taken as a sacrificial lamb to further the Minister’s career, but for two of their charges to be taken instead, it was unthinkable.

 

Henrick stayed back and did not offer any defence on behalf of the Ministry, meaning he was only there to observe and report back on what was said. Even knowing this, as most his learned colleagues surely did, Albus heard almost every one of them say (or shout) mutinous words against the Ministry.

 

Snape was quieter, as expected, but even he looked angry at this turn of events. Albus wondered, as he often did, what must be running through the young Potions master’s head. He had been keeping a much stricter eye on Severus lately, particularly with regard to his treatment of Gaara after he was forced to return to Potions lessons.

 

Severus’ hatred of the boy may only have dimmed slightly, but next to his concern over Harry’s welfare, it must have seemed incidental. Snape looked weary, which was saying something considering the weight the young man carried on his shoulders these past fifteen years.

 

“While I cannot fathom the stupidity that drove him to it, nor how he might have accomplished such a feat with his current level of skill, I have no doubt in my mind that Potter cheated the Goblet and should still be disqualified. Surely if not you alone, the Wizengamot you head must be able to remove him from the Tournament, Headmaster.”

 

“Alas, if only that were the case. In this matter, I’m afraid, there is not higher authority than the Minister. I, like all of you, wish it were not the case, but my hands are well and truly tired and there is nothing I can do to stop either boy from competing, as much as I would dearly like to.” Albus said, trying to sound convincing and not as tired with the situation as he felt. These were arguments he’d had with his professors and with himself many times over the past few weeks. The addition of Harry into the equation did not do anything ease his weariness.

 

“There are many boys and girls, from the older years, much more qualified to take part than Potter.” Minerva said. She had been at the front of the protesting staff but by her waning anger, she must have sensed the resignation with which her long-time superior and friend was speaking.

 

“As I have said, despite that important fact, there is not contravening the Goblet’s selection.”

 

“Beyond what has already been done to work around the Tournament’s traditions.” Severus unhelpfully added.

 

“Yes, beyond that.” Albus noticed, how could he not, that few of the arguments made that evening had been against Gaara’s involvement. It was widely known by now that in spite of the ‘exchange student’s’ magical _difficulties_ , he was exceptionally powerful with his sand. It made Albus hopeful that at least that part of his plan might succeed.

 

It seemed that was the only facet of the plan to succeed. Harry was taking part, Fudge was furious with him and the school because it was apparently Hogwarts’ collective fault, and now they would have to endure further scrutiny from Morbidus.

 

“If we cannot stop this travesty, then we will simply have to prepare the boys for whatever might be thrown at them.”

 

“I’m sorry to say that is also forbidden.” Albus said. He really wished he had held one of the straggling Ministry officials back so they could be the bearer of all of this bad news.

 

“What?” Minerva demanded.

 

Albus levelled his eyes at her, “As you will recall, we are not allowed to directly interfere with the Champions or offer them special help outside the confine of their regular lessons. Any actions contrary to this will result in dismissal, by order of the Minister and the Board of Governors.”

 

“Then are we supposed to send those boys to their deaths?!” Pomona asked.

 

“I trust that the educations that we have provided both Harry and Gaara before now and before the first Task will be all they will need to prepare them.” That was as close to a hint as Albus could risk with Henrick so close. Truly, there was precious little that could be taught to the boys before the first Task that might help them, but anything that could be slipped into the curriculum between then and now would definitely be worth the effort.

 

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but might I ask, before this goes any further, what were the specific security arrangements surrounding the Goblet of Fire over the twenty-four-hour period it was accepting entrees?” Henrick finally spoke up. The man did not act without purpose, so Albus had to wonder why he chose to speak now. What had he been waiting to hear, or what was he trying to avoid being said?

 

That would keep Albus up tonight if his staff didn’t.

 

“Yes, I would be more than happy to discuss that with you, Inspector, but I expect that Professors McGonagall, Snape, Flitwick and Sprout had better check on their respective Houses and enforce Hogwarts’ much ignored curfew. It would be best if not everyone shows up to breakfast tomorrow looking as tired as we are all sure to feel. Could you stay behind with us, Septima, Aurora? I’m sure we will be all that are needed to answer any questions.”

 

“Yes, that will be fine. Thank you for humouring me.” Humour sounded like an alien concept coming from Henrick Morbidus.

 

What followed for Albus was an hour of discussing, in extreme detail, the uneventful happenings of the night before, and then two hours of discussing the intricate magics involved in the Goblets and the age line Albus had set up. He envied Aurora and Septima for only have to endure that first hour.

 

By the end, Albus was acutely feeling his age and would most likely be needing a little something from Poppy tomorrow.

 

If things had been different, if dark lords had not risen, and foolish tournaments had not been planned, Albus wondered if he might have been retired by now. Sitting in the English countryside, sipping brandy next to whatever friends he still had that had managed to fight off the ravages of time.

 

That painful thought helped to remind Albus on the mistakes he had made and the price he paid to remedy them, as best he could.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

It had not taken the skills of Sybil Trelawney to predict that the inhabitants of Hogwarts, both foreign and domestic, would show up to breakfast the morning after the selection looking less lively than the castle ghosts. The chatter was still pervasive but the whispered tones came out of teens and preteens fighting to keep their faces out of their porridge

 

The older students, who were more accustomed to sleep deprivation, were more preoccupied shuffling through the assortment of different newspapers making their way around the Hall. Dozens of copies of the Daily Prophet had been delivered that morning, along with papers from a number of other European magical communities, ordered by Ravenclaws keen on espousing the dangers of getting all of one’s news from a single source.

 

Along with the paper came unheard of amounts of mail from the owls that had been detained by the Ministry for a full day. Most of it was now irrelevant, parents warning their children not to enter the Tournament and other such messages.

 

One memorable letter came in the form of a howler from Molly Weasley to her twin sons.

 

Howlers become louder the longer they are ignored and this one had been hidden away by the Ministry for a full twenty-four hours. When they opened it, their usual defiant good cheer turning to cold sweats, the entire Hall could hear Mrs Weasley’s screaming at them for entering despite her warnings. It was very embarrassing for all of the Weasleys present in the Hall. It even spared a breath to tell Ginny she was in trouble as well for not telling her about their entry before Ron had.

 

Ron’s smugness lost to his shame as he ducked his head.

 

After the howler finished promising them punishments the likes of which they had never seen, it tore itself up and the Hall returned to quiet murmurs and the rustling of paper. Ron could be thankful that his teasing would be lessened by the greatly diminished energy of everyone there to witness it.

 

Harry wanted to put a comforting hand on Ron’s shoulder but his best friend had been strangely moody since last night. Granted, Harry hadn’t exactly been cheerful after the selection, even with all of the celebrations, but Ron had been _off_. Still, Harry had to remind himself, he had bigger problems than Ron’s family drama or whatever had preceded it.

 

Ron stormed off when the snickers directed at him didn’t dissipate within sixty seconds like Hermione had assured him they would.

 

Hedwig arrived with a squawk, looking upset with him and acting very demanding (it took almost all of his bacon to get her to stop snapping at him, which she almost _never_ did). Only after he had paid her the appropriate tribute and apologised profusely, drawing some odd looks from his dining companions, that she let him take his letters.

 

While he stared at the foreboding envelope, Hedwig ate the rest of his breakfast, gave him a disgruntled hoot and took flight. She was evidently giving him the cold shoulder.

 

She wasn’t the only one.

 

Still, Harry could only hope Sirius’ letter wouldn’t be like that. He’d rather his godfather rip him a new one with a howler than ignore him or act like he didn’t care. He didn’t dare to hope that Sirius would believe him, though.

 

_‘Prongslet,_

_I’m sorry I can’t be there with you right now. I’m sure it must be difficult but please know that Moony and I are on your side. I spent this morning telling Fudge’s assistant what I think of what they are doing to you but I couldn’t get to the man himself. I would recount what I told them to tell Fudge but Moony told me not to teach you any more swear words._

_I’ve been asked never to return to the Minister’s office so I think my message will be conveyed._

_I also sent letters to Fudge, Crouch and Bagman to reiterate my complaints and demanded answers._

_Anyway, I believe you. I know you wouldn’t enter into that tournament on your own, so I will make sure they find out what went on. If I can prove someone else entered your name, they’ll be forced to let you out._

_Do you have any idea what happened with Gaara? He didn’t deny entering like you did but I can’t imagine he would volunteer either. Maybe someone is targeting the two of you. Be careful and don’t trust anyone you don’t know._

_I will get you out of this but Moony says you need to prepare anyway. Might be worth cracking a book between now and the first round._

_They still won’t let me visit the school but I’ll keep at it._

_Please write back as soon as you can. Skip your lessons if you need to. It’s okay, you have a responsible adult’s permission._

_I’m going to stop now before Moony reads this._

_Your illustrious and spectacularly manly godfather,_

_Padfoot_

_P.s. Please try and make contact with Gaara if you can. He never writes back to me and I doubt this will be the exception._ ’

 

Normally one of Sirius’ letters was enough to alleviate even the worst moods, but this morning it did little to ease his worries.

 

Harry didn’t have much hope that the investigation would get him out of participating in the Tournament, but he appreciated everything that Sirius had said and done. The trust Sirius had in him and the fury with which he defended Harry was a little unfamiliar but it felt good.

 

Harry also found attached another letter from Sirius from yesterday, probably the reason for Hedwig being turned away and being upset with him.

 

The second letter meant little to him now, just giving final warnings not to enter the Tournament and to try to enjoy the spectacle in spite of everything.

 

He dropped the parchment to the table and continued the project he began in his mind the night before – Operation: Get Myself Out of Life-Threatening Trouble.

 

So far, nothing.

 

The Minister and professors last night had made it clear that he was powerless to escape this latest threat to his health. His only hope, it seemed, was Sirius.

 

Sirius who was anything but a crafty political operator. Sirius who, if Professor Lupin was to be believed, had to be kept away from hard liquor for most of the week. Sirius who had woken Harry up half the nights he stayed at Grimmauld Place to make sure he ‘didn’t need anything like a glass of water or the talk about the birds and the bees’.

 

No doubt, Sirius would do everything he could to help Harry, but Harry sadly did not believe it would be enough.

 

Draco had watched the latest Weasley spectacle with a scoff. Even before he had revised parts of his opinions regarding the vital importance of blood purity in their culture (coincidentally after the arrival of Gaara into his life), the Weasleys had been the greatest argument against the virtues of uninterrupted pureblood lines.

 

Funnily enough, the best thing the Weasleys had done in the last decade to open the eyes of the overwhelmingly racist Slytherin student body was to be themselves. Of course, the other powerful argument against keeping the lines clean was the inbreeding so popular amongst certain families.

 

That argument had been left unsaid in Slytherin for the past few years after one oblivious Slytherin second year had made a crass joke to the scion of the venerable Malfoy line about the inbred Blacks, and the madness that came with them.

 

The boy had moved back on to solid food after a week, Draco had been released from detention after a month, Slytherins would know not to disparage any Black (particularly the women) until after Draco left Hogwarts, and his mother would never admit how proud she had been of the distinctly Gryffindorish moment her boy had exhibited in her defence.

 

After Draco watched Potter first stooge storm out of the Great Hall, his eyes wandered around. He had sat apart from his friends this morning as he was still no in the mood to socialise. Even watching the people around the Hall wasn’t diverting his attention the way it usually would. How often would he have the chance to watch Viktor Krum eat breakfast at the same table as him?

 

Well… the answer was many times over the coming year, but still…

 

Instead, he ignored the many Durmstrang students, and the Slytherins who suddenly found Draco (and his close association with a Champion) very interesting.

 

Seeing a fellow platinum blonde walking towards the exit, Draco practically leapt to his feet to catch her before she left the hall and he lost sight of her.

 

“Lovegood.” He said, carefully avoiding any raise in his voice and sounding like he was calling out to her. She turned to him but he continued walking right past her and out of the Hall. Turned around the wrong way and missed him as he passed her. She looked back his speed walking had taken him right past her.

 

Draco looked to his side, expecting to find she had fallen in step with him. Instead, she was stood at the entrance to the Hall look around her like a simpleton.

 

For Merlin’s sake…

 

“Lovegood, over here.” She finally registered who had addressed her and made her way over at a sedate pace.

 

“Good morning, Draco. How are you?”

 

“In no mood for small talk.” Draco said.

 

“That’s a pity. Big talk can be a bit hard in the mornings. Too many nargles around.” She seemed to be getting lost in her train of thought so Draco had to move quickly before she was gone.

 

“Did you know he would enter?” There was no need to clarify whom, since there was only one person they had in common.

 

“No, I was quite surprised. He doesn’t seem like the sort to volunteer for that sort of thing.”

 

“No, he doesn’t.”

 

“I wondered if he might have been controlled by-”

 

“I really don’t have time to listen your crackpot theories.”

 

“Then why did you start talking to me?” Luna asked with pure curiosity, as if she accepted that her deeply held beliefs were crackpot theories in the eyes of others.

 

Draco stopped short of saying anything unnecessarily cruel in response. He was working on being less mean to Luna since, as far he could remember, she had never said a word against him. She was still daft and annoying, but that would describe his best friend too.

 

Draco sighed. “Do you know where he is?”

 

“Right now? No, I don’t. He terribly difficult to pin down.” She said. “Sorry.”

 

“Just as well. I’m not sure whether or not I’ll hex him when I see him.”

 

“I wouldn’t recommend it. Professor Snape didn’t fare too well when he tried cursing him.”

 

Draco thought back to that incident last year. Snape had been known to cast spells at his students from time to time, despite directives from the board of governors telling him not to. What had made that instance memorable to those who witnessed it was that the target had been a Slytherin for a change, and unlike every other time it had happened, the target had fought back.

 

“Yes, well…” Draco wasn’t sure how to answer that. Professor Snape was a legendary duellist while Draco’s own fighting skills were never worth boasting about. Not that he didn’t try.

 

“I don’t think you should try to curse Gaara. It would hurt his feelings.”

 

Draco looked at her for only a moment before he realised, like Gaara, she wouldn’t react to his visible bafflement. His glance backward at her did bring to his attention the people closing in. He did not move in the same illustrious circles he once did but he would still prefer not to be seen in Lovegood’s company any more than absolutely necessary.

 

He guided her by the shoulders and dragged her around the corner to a quieter spot. She let out a squeak at the sudden manhandling but went along without any struggle. She understood Draco did not want to be seen with her. It was a common sentiment.

 

“Have you read this morning’s newspapers?” She asked when they were safely secluded.

 

“I skimmed the Prophet but there wasn’t anything worth reading in there.”

 

“They took a lot of creative liberties.”

 

“That’s one way of saying they made up half of what they wrote.”

 

“Did you only read the Prophet?”

 

“Yes, why?”

 

“There were lots of interesting articles in other papers.”

 

“Other papers?” Draco asked, wondering what other British publications she was referring to. Sadly, the Daily Prophet had something of a monopoly on British journalism.

 

“From abroad. The French and the German papers were the most interesting.”

 

“You can read them?”

 

“Yes, I speak multiple languages.” Luna said.

 

Draco nodded, pretending not to be impressed. He was somewhat fluent in French, ‘as all well accoutred young men should be,’ his mother said, but he did not have a flair for languages and had never bothered to learn any others.

 

“I read seventeen newspapers this morning and ours was the worst.”

 

“Seventeen…”

 

“Yes, though I did only skim the Austrian, American and Italian ones. They did not have much to say about the Tournament and that’s what I wanted to read about.”

 

“That makes sense, I suppose.” Draco didn’t think that made much sense but this had been a civil conversation so far and he wanted to save his aggression for Gaara. “What are people saying?”

 

“Lots of things. Many of them are curious about Gaara. He _is_ very mysterious.”

 

“Don’t I know it…”

 

“And about why Hogwarts had two Champions. Many politicians are calling Britain cheaters.”

 

“Where do you stand?” Draco asked.

 

Luna looked down at her feet. “Right here.”

 

Draco knew she was messing with him. How could she not be? “You know what I meant.”

 

“You want to know if I believe that Harry Potter or Gaara cheated to become a Champion.” Draco wasn’t sure if he heard a question in that. He hoped not. “I do not think so. Harry doesn’t seem like the sort to cheat.”

 

“And Gaara?”

 

“Oh, he seems like he might cheat. But I don’t think he did this time.”

 

“That’s pretty much what I thought. So what do you think happened?”

 

“I’m not sure. With someone like Gaara involved, maybe the Goblet became confused and classified him as from another school. Or his own magic interfered with the Goblet’s and confused it. Maybe someone else wanted him to take part.”

 

“Any of those could be true.” Draco admitted, feeling unsatisfied.

 

“Or he might have cheated.”

 

“That still doesn’t answer why.”

 

“Neither of us know Gaara well enough to know why he would enter. Not without asking him first.”

 

That hurt Draco a little. He prided himself, secretly, on the fact that he was the foremost Gaara expert (except Mr Black) probably. He didn’t like to think that, after everything they had been through together, Gaara could still be this much of a mystery to him. Though recent events had been making him reassess that more and more.

 

Draco was quiet for a moment as he mulled this over. Eventually he asked, “What do _you_ think I should do?”

 

“I’m not sure. Asking him about it would probably be best. I hope you won’t start a fight with him. I’ve noticed boys do that a lot when they’re confused.”

 

“Gryffindors maybe.”

 

“Not just them. The only ones who don’t do it that much are Hufflepuffs.”

 

“That’s because they’re wimps.”

 

“I think they’re just too friendly for it.” Luna almost sounded disapproving.

 

“Well, I certainly don’t intend to try punching Gaara when he shows himself.”

 

“I’m glad. I wouldn’t like to see you hurt yourself.” Luna said, her mind obviously wandering. “The Daily Prophet mentioned you, you know.”

 

“I remember. That Skeeter woman’s article referred to me by name. My father’s solicitor has already been in contact with the Prophet.” Draco had not appreciated the pictures of his gormless face nor the speculation of his precise association with Gaara, beyond their rooming situation. Somehow, they had even found out that he and Gaara weren’t actually assigned to live together this year and that Gaara had taken it upon himself to switch.

 

“Some of the other foreign papers seemed more interested by what the Champions were wearing.”

 

“That’s hardly surprising. They’re all celebrities now. Besides, what was there to say? Harry Potter was wearing rags and Viktor Krum was wearing fur?”

 

“They did mention that Mr Potter looked ragged, and Mr Krum was wearing fur.” Luna admitted, “But, they spent a while on Gaara because he’s so… distinctive looking.”

 

“What did they say?” Draco wondered if his father would be willing to pursue another suit on Gaara’s behalf.

 

“They wondered why he dyed his hair, wore makeup, shaved his eyebrows, and painted an Asian character on his forehead. They also dwelled on his height and his behaviour. They said he looked contemptuous. I think they were right about that part.”

 

Draco held back a snigger about this latest misunderstanding about Gaara’s appearance. Sadly, even the denizens of Hogwarts would no longer believe his assurances that Gaara wasn’t wearing makeup. They all thought Draco was covering for him.

 

“He’ll be livid when he reads that one.” Draco said.

 

“I don’t think Gaara can read Spanish.” Luna reasoned.

 

“Probably not. Hopefully the other papers won’t start on that sort of tabloid rubbish.”

 

“The Quibbler certainly won’t.”

 

“Thank goodness…” Draco said, knowing that the circulation of that particular magazine was lower than some internal Ministry memos.

 

They lapsed into silence again and Luna looked like she wanted to leave but didn’t want to offend him. If she weren’t a Ravenclaw, it wouldn’t surprise him if she’d been sorted into Hufflepuff.

 

“You can go.” Draco hadn’t really meant to sound so imperious, but now it happened, he could live with it.

 

“Okay.” Luna said before turning on her heal and heading off.

 

“Oh, before you go, what does that symbol on Gaara’s face mean? I’ve asked him a couple times but he’s never told me.”

 

Luna turned back to him. “No, I suppose he wouldn’t. It means ‘love’.”

 

“He’s got ‘love’ tattooed on his forehead?” Draco couldn’t believe it. Of all the things for someone like Gaara to have on his face. He’d always assumed it meant war or strength or something. “Why on Earth does he have that?”

 

“I imagine Gaara’s he only person in the world who knows the answer to that.” Luna said before turning again and leaving.

 

Draco wondered at the implications of that statement. It was almost certainly true.

 

Beyond that very pertinent question, Draco then wondered why it was in a foreign language when Gaara spoke and wrote in English, and didn’t seem to need to be taught the language. He didn’t come from Japan, so why was he also apparently fluent in their language? Or, why had Gaara’s language been translated when he came to this world but not the writing on his face?

 

Despite it still being the morning and having just eaten breakfast, Draco felt weary.

 

The nightmares had yet to abate and these lies and secrets seemed to be growing every day. It felt like there was no respite from the pressure at the moment. Not even the escape he might find in friendship, evidently.

 

He tried to shake off his sleep-deprived headache and remember with which lessons he was supposed to be starting the day.

 

OXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

 

Once again, Gaara had somehow managed to surprise him, even after Draco told himself he would no longer make any assumptions about his roommate’s behaviour.

 

Gaara had actually shown up to their first lesson.

 

Draco had been one of the first to arrive and take his seat, and with the addition of a handful of Durmstrang visitors auditing the lesson, he didn’t immediately notice his distinctive friend standing in the back. To be perfectly honest, it hadn’t even occurred to him to look.

 

Upon finally sighting him, Draco struggled greatly with how to react.

 

The immense feelings of rage at the betrayal and relief that Gaara was here were at war within him. He wanted to jump up and curse or punch Gaara’s porcelain face or maybe invite him to sit or hug him.

 

Not willing to embarrass himself with any of those actions, and certainly not willing to let Gaara off the hook, he settled for turning back to the front of the room and ignoring him. Someone else had already taken Gaara’s usual seat so he could pretend the redhead actually wasn’t there and get on with his day.

 

Arse.

 

Gaara noticed the cold shoulder he was receiving and was grateful. It was better than outright hatred right now. He knew to expect one or the other.

 

He had been avoiding confrontations a lot since he arrived in this world and last night had been no different. He’d hidden out overnight and spent the early morning sifting through no less than thirty-six letters that arrived with the morning post. Normally he would have needed to sit for breakfast in the Great Hall or go and get his post from the owlery directly, but apparently there was a limit to the number of letters they would hold for him.

 

So, he had sat outside in the November chill, reading through three dozen letters. Or, sifting through the vast majority of letters sent from perfect strangers and actually reading the four letters that came from people he knew. The strangers all wanted interviews, or information, or something else from him. One offered to give him money in exchange for him endorsing some product of theirs.

 

Gaara had put it with the rest of the pile to be discarded. He had no need of money, he had Sirius (and maybe Draco would stay with him a little longer.) Or he could just steal money. Either way, he did not need to sell himself.

 

Of the remaining four pertinent letters, Gaara started with the one he recognised as having come from Dumbledore, bearing the Hogwarts seal on the back. That was probably quite important.

 

‘ _Dear Gaara,_

_Without unduly disclosing details better left obscured in remote communications like this, I would first like to offer my sincere gratitude to you for honouring our regrettable deal. However, in spite of this, I am afraid I must ask further of you in light of last night’s surprising turn. I do not have anything beyond what I have already promised as part of our first deal to offer you, but I hope you will humour this latest request and the moral impetus it serves._

_The surprise entry is not as prepared as you will be for the upcoming challenges. So, please do whatever is within your considerable power to protect him as well as the others._

_I can only hope you will acquiesce to my last selfish request of you but I will not ask for a response on this matter. Either you will or will not, there is nothing more I can do or say to change how the Tournament will proceed._

_Any unofficial communications between us now will have to pass through letters like this. Meeting in private as we have before will draw suspicion of collusion at best. I’m sure you will understand._

_I am sorry for the burdensome failures of the adults in the world._

_Yours in good faith,_

_\----_ ’

Gaara didn’t know what was more laughable, what this world considered to be secretive communications or Dumbledore’s promise that this would be the last request. Gaara knew people like the old man would continue to ask of him until he had nothing more to give. For that reason, he wanted to outright refuse and leave Potter to his fate in the Tournament.

 

The reason he couldn’t do that, other than the irksome morality of it all, was that Sirius would be crushed if Potter were hurt or killed. For Sirius’ sake and not Dumbledore’s, he would do what he could to keep Potter alive.

 

In a sour mood, Gaara stood and turned back towards the castle. It had been a freezing cold night and he had a good reason (beyond the heating) to return to the castle. He left the pile of irrelevant letters and cards on the damp forest floor, safe in the knowledge that the parchment would soon turn to mulch if it rained latter this afternoon as Trelawney had predicted. She was hopeless at most predictions but she could at least be relied upon to predict the weather two days in advance.

 

While his charmed robes did keep him from suffering the worst of the Scottish Autumnal chill, it was still much more comfortable inside the castle. As he passed the first torch he saw, he called his sand out to drop Dumbledore’s letter in the flames. Standard protocol for secret letters.

 

He still had the remaining three letters in his pocket but he knew who they were from and he knew he wanted to deal with Draco personally before any of them. Besides, he could pretty much guess what Narcissa Malfoy, Molly Weasley and Sirius (and likely Remus) had to say. In fact, they would all likely be saying the same things.

 

He had sadly already missed breakfast so he skipped the circus in the Great Hall and headed straight to his first lesson of the day. He wasn’t too sure of the time when he arrived so he was disappointed to find the class was already mostly full and almost ready to start. He had even missed his opportunity to take the seat next to Draco, so he would have to suffer the tension of waiting until after this lesson to have it out with his friend.

 

He stood in the back and soon found himself surrounded by the much larger visiting Durmstrang students who he understood were going to be watching the Hogwarts lessons for the rest of the year. Gaara thought it was hugely disruptive to learning, but clearly that wasn’t the Ministry’s priority for this school. The visitors all seemed friendly, a few of them even quietly introducing themselves to him but he was saved from reciprocating when the professor entered and began the lesson.

 

“Yes, yes, it’s all very exciting. Please would everyone remain quiet. I will transfigure extra desks and chairs for those of you who arrived too late to finds seats.” McGonagall said snappishly before turning to her chalkboard and starting the lesson.

 

Draco looked at him once throughout the entire lesson.

 

Other than the demonstration of how to create office and classroom furniture from transfiguring pencils, Gaara didn’t take much notice of anything that was said or done during the first lesson of the day.

 

When the lesson came to an end, Gaara stood and walked directly to Draco, heedless of their classmates all vying for his attention. Draco turned to the exit and, seeing Gaara approaching, diverted and walked the other way around the desks to avoid him. Gaara was about to give chase when he heard, “Gaara, wait there a moment.”

 

Turning, McGonagall was looking right at him. Experience told him that she would not appreciate if he ignored her and continued what he was doing. He was trying to defuse tensions and avoid conflict, so best not get the angry Scotswoman baying for blood.

 

“Come here.” She beckoned him over while the last of the students who had been waiting to interact with Gaara realised they would have to do so later and filed out.

 

Gaara approached her, wondering why she had interrupted his plan.

 

“Gaara, I am forbidden by a Ministry decree from offering you any special help with your upcoming Tasks, but if you happened to have any _suggestions_ about what you think would be generally helpful to the class, I am more than happy to update my syllabus.” She said it with the barest hint of a smile. “And if you have any suggestions for any of your other lessons, please bring it to our attentions and we will do everything we can to _accommodate_ you.”

 

“Thank you for your kind offer.” Gaara said, truly meaning it. “But I do not believe my chances will be improved by a month of learning magic. I will use my strengths. You should all focus on Potter.”

 

“Yes, well, we will be making the same offer to Mr Potter, you can rest assured. But you shouldn’t be worrying about another Champion’s abilities.” She scolded him. He thought it was an ironic position to be taking after having read her superior’s letter just this morning.

 

“Thank you again. I have to get to my next lesson.”

 

“Tell Professor Hagrid I detained you. He should understand but if you have any trouble, I will speak with him this evening.”

 

Gaara nodded and left. He thought about running to catch up but he doubted he could intercept Draco before he reached Hagrid’s teaching area anyway.

 

He walked out, safe in the knowledge that most students had already reached their next lessons so he could walk to Care of Magical Creatures in peace. He had a feeling such moments might become a rarity from now on and they ought to be treasured even more than before.

 

When he arrived, Hagrid was already giving his talk on the proper method for preparing Pegasus feed and did not spare him a second glance. Gaara did not fully understand Hagrid but he appreciated the giant man’s attitude to things like tardiness. He hoped that would extend to this next discourtesy.

 

Gaara could not stand around and pretend to listen to a CoMC lesson while waiting for the opportunity to talk to Draco at the end. He had a nasty feeling in his gut that he wanted rid of now.

 

Skirting around the edges of the gathered pupils, Gaara approached Draco from behind and knew he had been noticed by the bunching of Draco’s shoulders. Sliding through the crowd until he was next to him, he said, “I need to talk to you.”

 

“Not now!” Draco whispered back, glancing around at the people who had obviously noticed the disruption.

 

“Yes, now.” Gaara said obstinately, not bothering to whisper.

 

Draco saw that even Hagrid had noticed but was trying to continue his lesson regardless because the great oaf didn’t want the trouble that came with interacting with a Malfoy or Gaara. “Go away.”

 

“Yes.” Gaara said. He grabbed Draco by the wrist and then dragged him back through the crowd. Draco blushed at the presumption and embarrassing spectacle they must be making, especially in front of the visiting Durmstrang students. It was in the hope of avoiding further humiliation that he ceased his struggled and followed more willingly away from the lesson.

 

Hagrid watched them go and tried to remember what Professors Sprout and McGonagall had said to do if his students dragged one another away from his class. Nothing came to mind, and the advice for truanting students didn’t feel like it would work here. He also didn’t _want_ to spend an evening detention with either Draco Malfoy or Gaara; the former for obvious reasons and the latter because he didn’t understand the boy and didn’t want the tiny redhead claiming any more of Hagrid’s pets as his own.

 

He’d deduct House points, for what they were worth, if the boys didn’t come back before the end.

 

The other students barely batted a collective eyelid as they watched the latest drama between the pair. It was an accepted fact of Hogwarts life by now that Gaara and Draco had a peculiar and close friendship and it was best if everybody (except that one Ravenclaw girl) did their best to ignore it.

 

The Dumstrang students present didn’t know what to think about it but started making discreet enquiries about Hogwarts’ first Champion and the pureblood boy.

 

Draco gave up trying to wrest his arm out of Gaara’s grasp (not for the first time) and let himself be led away. If they were going to have this out, better they create some distance. Draco wanted to be able to shout.

 

When they were far enough away that only Gaara’s presence offered any reassurance against the dangers of the Dark Forest, Draco yanked his arm free and began.

 

“You utter pillock! What were you thinking?”

 

Gaara turned in time to see Draco explode at him. It wasn’t pretty. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

 

“Tell me?! How about not entering the bloody thing to begin with?! How about not keeping everything a secret from me just because you have to be so bloody mysterious?”

 

Gaara waited, not wanting to interrupt.

 

“And while we’re on it, why in Merlin’s name did you put your bloody name in that bloody Goblet?!” Gaara was beginning to wonder if bloody was the only swearword Draco knew. “You stupid arse!” Maybe not.

 

“It is simply something I have to do.” Gaara did not want to jeopardise his deal with the Headmaster by disclosing it, even to Draco.

 

“Why?” Draco looked at him like he was expecting that Gaara could not provide a suitable answer.

 

“I can’t explain it.”

 

“Can’t or won’t explain? You’re always pulling bollocks like this and I’m sick and tired of it. We might as well be strangers.”

 

“I only hide what-”

 

“Shut up! Tell me now why you entered or-” He faltered, “or we’re done. I’ll change rooms and you can spend all your time listening to Looney Lovegood and her ridiculous stories.”

 

Gaara’s face betrayed nothing of what he was thinking. Draco was beginning to worry that Gaara might call his bluff. If it even was a bluff. Was he bluffing? Draco wasn’t really sure. He was tempted, in this temporary silence, to dart over and kick Gaara square in the shin.

 

“I had to enter to fulfil a bargain with the Headmaster.”

 

“Wait, what? What are you on about?” Draco did a double-take.

 

“In return for help in finding my home, I agreed to enter.”

 

“Why does Dumbledore want you in the Tournament?” It made no sense.

 

“I am stronger than anyone else here. If I entered, it would save someone else being hurt.”

 

“Well that worked out well, didn’t it.” Draco drawled. Looking at Gaara, his gormless face, he felt his rage evaporate in an instant. His best friend in the world was the biggest idiot in the world too.

 

“It hasn’t gone precisely to plan.”

 

“So Dumbledore’s blackmailing you to make you risk your life instead of someone else?”

 

“Essentially, yes.” Gaara thought that sounded about right.

 

“And you didn’t think of asking me about it? It didn’t occur to tell me what he was making you do?”

 

“He hasn’t forced me. It is a deal, nothing more.” In fact, in Gaara’s mind, it was somewhat like a mission.

 

“And that’s seems okay to you. For a man like Dumbledore to make deals with students?”

 

Gaara did not quite understand the objection Draco was making.

 

“And why didn’t you tell me? Is it so hard to mention, ‘oh, Dumbledore’s making me enter the Tournament tomorrow, what do you think, Draco?’”

 

“He told me to keep it a secret.”

 

“And you thought I just wouldn’t notice?! Did alarm bells not go off when the old man starting trying to make you keep secrets?” Honestly, it was as if Gaara had never had a positive adult role model tell him fundamental facts of life.

 

“I deemed it a reasonable request and accepted the deal.”

 

“You’re an idiot. You know that, right? You an abso-bloody-lutely stupid person.”

 

Gaara did not think he was supposed to respond to these insults.

 

“I can’t believe you entered the Triwizard Tournament…” Draco finally said. He turned away and massaged his head again. He brought his hands back down from his temples and recalled what an upper year had told him recently when he saw this common stress-response. Draco dearly wanted not to lose his hair before he turned 20 so he stopped rubbing his scalp.

 

“It is not ideal, I agree.”

 

Draco twisted back to look at his friend. “Not ideal? That’s the understatement of the year. Still, at least you’ve got a better chance of surviving than Potter does.”

 

“I intend to help him survive too.”

 

“Well, that seems like a wasted effort but there’s no helping some things.” Draco joked. He hadn’t made a dead-Potter joke in a while and it dead a fair bit to lift his spirits. “Well, if you’re going to enter, you’d better at least win.”

 

“Yes, that was also part of the deal. I have to win in order to receive Dumbledore’s help.” Gaara said this as if it would be the simplest thing in the world to win the Triwizard Tournament despite being the youngest (and shortest by a wide margin) of those competing, as well as being easily the least capable magic user.

 

“You also have to win? Is there anything else about that deal you’ve not mentioned?” Draco was unamused by the omission.

 

“Not that I recall. And do not mention it to anyone.”

 

“Of course I won’t. You don’t have to go around spilling all of your secrets in the open, but you have to start telling me things.”

 

“I already do.”

 

“Not everything, you don’t.”

 

“No, not everything.” Gaara said, meeting Draco’s eyes and refusing to waver in the moment.

 

“Let’s get back. Even that giant half-wit will notice if we miss the entire lesson.”

 

“He saw us leave.”

 

“You two have a lot in common, you know.” Draco said, not finished insulting his friend yet.

 

Gaara considered the strange interest the animals of this world had in him and Hagrid’s own famous animal magnitude and agreed with the assessment, even if that were the only similarity between them.

 

They started back towards where the lesson was probably still going on.

 

“How did Dumbledore know for sure that you would be the one to be picked for the Tournament? I know you’re really strong but surely that’s not the only thing.”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“You don’t think he did something to make sure you were the one the Goblet picked, do you?”

 

“It wouldn’t surprise me.”

 

“Nor me. How funny would it be if that was what cause Potter to be picked too. All of this and Potter gets stuck in the Tournament too because that meddlesome old man couldn’t keep his nose out.”

 

“I don’t think it is funny. He is in danger.”

 

Draco chewed on that. Sure, he liked joking about Potter’s death and once upon a time he would have felt little more than joy if it were to actually happen (plus there was the time he set a poisonous snake on him in a duel…) but now it actually seemed to be in poor taste to make such jokes.

 

He would have to restrict himself to maiming jokes from now one, then. Something about getting more scars for the collection. He would work on that one.

 

Draco let them fall into silence for a respectable moment before he spoke again more seriously, “Will you tell me the rest of whatever you’re hiding at some point?”

 

Gaara stopped walking but didn’t look at him. “No, I have secrets I would like to keep from you.”

 

Draco did not understand how Gaara could say that to him. Sure, Draco’s usual friends kept secrets from him and vice versa, but that was just part of being a Slytherin. Gaara and he shared more than that. What could Gaara possibly still be hiding, considering the crazy things Draco already knew about him?

 

Turns into a were-something-fluffy, is from another world(!), used to be a paid mercenary. How much worse could it get? Something told him, probably the screaming and laughter he heard in his nightmares, that whatever this big secret was, it was related to the last full moon.

 

He so dearly wished that night had never happened.

 

Gaara had already started walking again so Draco jogged to catch up.

 

Upon returning to the class, someone (whose face Draco committed to memory and to his list of enemies) piped up, “Kiss and made up, have we?”

 

The soft laughter that bubbled up and quickly died made Draco blush but did not stop his retort. “Not everyone is so interested in kissing boys as you are.”

 

This caused a round of childish ‘ooohs’ but nothing more came of it. Still, Draco’s blush stayed. He knew there had been a couple of rumours running amok about the nature of his and Gaara’s relationship but this was the first time anything had been said in front of him. He needed to find a girlfriend soon or else everyone would think it was true.

 

He looked to see if Gaara had been at all affected by the crude joke but the moronic redhead was currently being harassed by the Beauxbaton Pegasi that Hagrid had brought out to show the class.

 

As Gaara ducked the horse faces that were trying to greet him, he was reminded that while he had apparently sorted his issues with Draco for the moment, he still had the three remaining letters in his pocket to deal with.

 

And it wasn’t even noon.

 

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A/N: A bit of slow chapter, but I hope it was satisfying for some of you.

 

I’ll try (as ever) to get the next one out faster.

 

Thank you for reading, and drop a review if you have a moment. I’ve never stopped enjoying reading them.


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